[Intro]
"Kick it over here baby pop!"

[Hook: Keith Murray, Redman and (All)]
Swing it over here! (Yo, swing it over here!)
Swing it over here! (C'mon, swing it over here!)
Y'all swing it over here! (Swing it over here!)
Come swing it over here!
Yo, swing it over there!

[Verse 1: Keith Murray]
My rap style is swift like boom bips
So come get a whip, and a bump, it's rough, crews couldn't hold it in handcuffs
The ordeal is that I'm raw ill on the mic
Switchin my styles up like a transvestite (word)
I think of competition as... and
Keith Murray is the vocabulary champ
Come in against deep notable to breach lines
I'll make you make the same mistake twice, three or four times
And nobody got a style like this
You could say, I got my thinking cap on backwards
I'll demolish the retarded smartest rap artists
Regardless, tryin to scream the hardest
I fuck your head up like amphetamines with L.O.D
Then bend you out of shape like a master Yogi
I put my head through your chest, just to see
Who's next in line, just to get wrecked
I makes contact, bust the interlude
I take my skills to another level like qualudes
And you couldn't hear me out; cause the type of shit
I converse about'll drag your brain in the slaughterhouse
[Hook]
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!

[Verse 2: Erick Sermon]
Cling cling, somebody tell me something
Why I got more props than Don King without bouncing boxing rings?
*ding ding* I be the flyest guy you ever saw-r on the microphone
Rip the shit to pieces, so leave me alone
Check me out, the way I freak the mode
The active half flippin shit so split 'fore I explode - BOOM!
So umm, pay attention, before I put you and your crew on suspension
For being closed minded to my invention
Yo, I rock on reel when I record oh my lord
The world full of jackers so I keep my shit stored
When I rock the microphone I rock it right
And keep it hardcore and more blacker than Wesley Snipes
To my crew there's no match
You want more funk then here's another batch, yo I

[Hook]
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!
Swing it over here! Swing it over here!
[Interlude: Scratches (Erick Sermon)]
"The Redman that's what they call me"
"The Redman that's what they call me"
"The Redman that's what they call me"
(Oh no, here comes the Funkadelic Redman)

[Verse 3: Redman]
Aoowwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my goodness! Could this be
The funk that I was stretching out my lungs
Funkadelic sums up *nasal inhale* I clear the mucus
Stick tissue up my nose to stop the snot from makin spots
To be or not I still give n***as polka dots for plots
Now Richard Dawson had a survey sayin that I was awesome
Throw on your Walkmans while I pour the funk sauce in your coffins
WAKE UP! While the blunt's laced up just to pick the pace up
My style's freaky, nasty like Seka's pussy vapors
When I raped her, you don't know check the four-uno-uno you know
That funk mixture that gets your body, holy like scriptures
Now right about now I'm settin off a bomb to blow the Empire
To ashes -- cause my shit's more raw than n***as stashes
Massive funk, swingin bangin bent up while I fucked ya
I'm rough enough ta, fuck up another white man's trucker
Redman's evil like the board of Ouija
N***as could smoke a whole pound of weed and couldn't see me off the TV!