Ron Burgundy

[Intro: Tyrone Briggs]
I'll give this lil' cookie an hour before we're doing the no pants dance
Time to musk up
Yep, it's made with bits of real panther
So you know it's good
It's quite pungent
Uh
Sexy
It's a formidable scent
Let's go

[Verse 1: Tyrone Briggs & Will Smith]
Ron Burgundy, uh, how I tell a vision (Right?)
Before Bob could lay down the drums, this shit was finished (Right?)
Lyrically Fei Long, it's fire when I kick it
Don't share my moves with no one, no Ryu to my Kinship (You feel me, Lord?)
It ain't nothing to rap to be
Nothing wack, or average, it's either heat or a masterpiece (Yeah)
Sample choppеd by Fresh, he through the pass to mе
With slaps hard enough to get us banned from an academy
Keep my wife's name out your fucking mouth
Daylight savings, you'll see the rise when sun come out
Can outlap 'em without passing the baton
This shit is remote learning, I'm in a class on my own (Right)
Don't compare me to dudes that wear a thousand dollar belts
But won't invest a hundred dollars in they self (Nah)
And wonder why they fan base in they hometown is often doing awful
Nigga, nobody gonna support you until you support you
Stupid
It's what I'm talking 'bout, man

[Interlude]
Stings the nostrils
In a good way (Yep)
Brian, I'm gonna be honest with you, that smells like pure gasoline
Studies and sixty percent of the time
Every time

[Verse 2: Flukey]
Like we always do about this time
Flukey the illest
These dudes beginners
The rest of them just pretenders, dude
They couldn't fit my tennis shoes (Uh)
I run with niggas, they in the room, then you hid your jewels
We different dudes, if we said we did it, we did it too
Nigga, Flu too cool for you dudes to ridicule
Tell the truth, admit it, y'all niggas pick and choose
And fabricate your truth when you spit it, so you can fit in crews (Ooh)
Than your whole diction a contradiction, dude
Somebody tell Bobby this beat a body
Body slamming rappers, running my city, Jesse The Body
All these rappers claiming they king, but I see no body
First rapper screaming my name, then I see a body
We'll see about it, but see, I thought I told 'em not to fuck with me
I thought I told you niggas we spit buck fifties (Ah)
On the low, I know all y'all niggas look up to me
That's not your dude if he said that you could keep up with me

[Interlude]
Excuse me, [?]
Mm, what is it, [?]?
I would like to extend to you an invitation to the pants party
Excuse me?
The party, the pants, with pants
Party with pants
Rick, are you saying that there's a party in your pants and that I'm invited?
That's it

[Verse 3: Goldie Cobain]
I said what I said
I saw crunch time (Yup), he said it's crunch time
He took a little sabbatical, let his funds climb
I remember it vividly ducking one time (I remember)
Now we trapping immaculate on the front line
Don't bother Miss Carter, she mad
The head good, she ski free 'cause she bad (Bad)
Pop tags and drop bags and we brag
No gun flashing, freeze tag 'cause we dads
I see y'all copping the shit that we had (I see y'all)
I hear ya popping shit like he mad (Tight)
I'm on a thousand, I brought the pounds in
A kilo is a thousand grams, provide the housing (Real)
Look, brother, that's word to Lu's mother (Swear)
I've been inside of the Poom poom and you love her
Door banging like boom boom, it's who other
None other, Cobain, I brung butter

[Interlude]
It's a really impossible turn of profit if it serve real chicken
Yeah, we use mainly bats
But the, the good quality of it
That's the most horrible thing I've ever heard
Yeah, you gotta do what you gotta do, right?
So what you gotta do is serve fried bats?
Yup
Do you know what they call bats?
Bats, chicken of the cave
No one calls the chicken of the cave

[Verse 4: Squeegie O]
Niggas be at these shows rockin' they sister's clothes thinking they next up
You call this shit local? I call it check cuts
Bitch, I'll sign your pity on the runny kind
Sada tay
Pull a Chester bean screaming help police
Twisted on Harbor Day
Black Jesus on the platform
Last of the Mohegans
'Cause real nigga season is rare
From the era of the schemers
Jean shorts on like I'm the black John cena
You niggas ain't seeing the flesh
There's no way you could connect to the spirit
Shut down the play with a pass interference
Son, I got love for Tyrone Briggs
But that ugly motherfucker owes me bread
'Cause I wrote half of Tyrone shit
On my Reggie, I'll be that
My nickname is "Fuck You, Bitch"
'Cause all the hoes know that he ain't shit
Turn you album to a weed tray
My shit spins on shade 45 like I got nudes blackmailing the DJs