George Clinton - Martial Law lyrics

And the flag was still there Waving on while we dance... Boosting the ba** volume to a deaf range Crackin' a bottle of champagne They exchanged lyrical gratifications verbalized in the form of a toast Chorus: It's gonna take Martial Law Curfew ain't gonna get it It's gonna take Martial Law We're used to funkin' after hours (repeat) Funk is dead is what they said While sittin' 'round cheatin' at pool—smooth Bags baggin' and they weren't braggin' To tell the truth they were lookin' real cool They were choked up tight in their white on white Cocoa brown fronts were down They wore candy striped ties hangin' down to their flies Sported gold dust crowns Chorus Before I shrivel up and die Let me tell you a little story 'bout the FBI The CIA, LAPD of the USA Ask 'em why I list 'em Talkin' 'bout that system Let us take a look and see what's up today They're takin' away the rights from the people, that's wrong What did King say "Can't we get along?" Beat down by the man whose check he paid Stacey Koons was just a drop In the bucket full of wicked cops No fire hose could wash that blood away It was the fifteenth frame of a straight pool game and they all stood diggin' the play With an idle shrug they suddenly dug a strange cat movin' their way He was a medium built cat with a funny type hat Looked about five years old he wore a messed up vibe He needed a shine, he shivered as if he was cold Ah, but to all the other guys, they summized The dude was a motherfunkin' flunky But the well-trained eyes of how the mother ship flies You could tell the s**er was funky Homeboy grinned as the dude moved in Askin' had they seen the doc They said they hadn't seen him but heard he was fiendin' He had went to the studio to cop Ah, but if you got eyes coppin' size I can cop the P I'm in the flow LP's, CD's, ca**ettes and 8-tracks all good to go But you got to post bail, my man's wholesale, He's the only connect I know Flash me some bread the brother said Freeze here while I go score Well I got the bread but I'm leary, he said I'm playin' with the big band you know Homey had plans to burn the man, to take his money and blow But then he hesitated, ah cuz he had underestimated Now he's got to do the real show He said I can cop a piece on a small time lease You don't have to put up no ends, find you a stump to fit your rump I'll sure back in ten Ah, but as the brother stepped off up crept another brother Yo grab yourself a stick Said the little man I'm not a throw off worse yet I'm a show-off As he chalked and broke the balls with his dick Runnin' the three the five the seven and twelve Blood said yo mama and the fifteen fell With combinations of English and bankin' He cued up to break rack three Yo, lookin' over his bridge past the ball to the figure near the wall Strokin' his stick, sayin' hold my thing while I go P Chorus Taking the cue from the man in view He followed him into out of sight Where upon he paused or rather he stopped Pressin' the rewind then play on the beat box The funk was a phony, a fake and a fraud, bootleg copies to boot Not funk with a P on it but funk with a 3 on it Now comes the time to salute He says here's to beggin' duplicatin' and bootleggin' Here's to the funk on which I'm high The man made a pa**, flashed a gold colored badge and said here's to I'm the FBI Homeboy grinned as he said my friend You want to make an example out of me Cuz I stole a little funk and I sold a little bunk funk Some pervert rapes your daughter and goes free The man said with a grin, that's not why you lose and I win If you're gonna steal the funk steal the motherfunkin' P! Chorus