Praise the Lord

You know it's Whitey And the Likwits I say it's Whitey And the Likwits You know it's Whitey And the Likwits Watch me rock these sounds From the polo grounds To the sunset strip Like a nasty trip I'll flash it back on ya Run it up on ya I'm born in Hempstead And live raised in California Mr. Entreprenuer I rock the shot that's sure I need a dime plus more I sip the fine liquor I want the cash in hand And the beach front land And I get loco From Acolpoco to Japan Mr. Whitey Ford gets terrain explored You perpetrate that Ford You must be out of your gourd It's time to make like Greg Nice, kid And praise the Lord Keep the faith Smoke an eighth Until you stack the papers all up in my safe Commence the motivate Consume an altered state I'm killin' your whole wack show Like I'm Edgar Allan Poe With the psychotic thriller No peckerwood iller Than this freckled-face man With the farmer's tan If I can't bomb on you I'm bombin' on your man CHORUS Some get the shit, sugar, some get the stains Some get the muscles, baby, some get the brains Some get the powers, love, some get the papers Some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors Better... Praise the Lord, keep the faith (4x) I say roll to the rock Rock to the roll Whitey Ford brings the devastatin' mic control Like Derryl McDaniel A hundred G's annual The tip's get clocked, baby The bond's get stocked My style gets rocked Just like doors get knocked With legendary status Like my name's Lou Brock And my lazairre sounds Be shakin' the grounds Huntin' down crews Like packs of bloodhounds Snatchin' off crowns And meltin' 'em down I once was lost, see But now I'm found Amazing grace How sweet's the sound And when the saints come marchin' in (keep the faith) I'm Nestle's Alpine White / Classic rapper's delight All these shorties pullin' tools 'Cause they know they can't fight I bank my selections on worldwide connections So get the seven digits, baby Never burn your britches CHORUS (2x)