笨小笨What’s Cookin’ (Explicit)歌词由Mista Min&Spinz&Klippstone演唱，出自专辑《Things You Don’t Know... (Explicit)》，下面是《What’s Cookin’ (Explicit)》完整版歌词！
What’s Cookin’ (Explicit)歌词完整版
Intro:
Scotty Westwood, "Welcome to Spinz cooking class, we're in Munich, Germany today and we have some very special guest on the show, Mista Min."
Mista Min, "Yo yo yo! What's up?!"
Scotty Westwood, "And his assistant..."
Mista Min, "Klippstone!!"
Scotty Westwood, "One time for your mother F@%$*#g mind, we're going to give you the classic ingredients for a hip hop track.
So if you are recording on your VCRs, you can send a self addressed stamped envelope for 10 bucks back to my ass!
Scotty Westwood:
Welcome to the show where we cook up classics,
chops and break-beats, the two main ingredients.
I punch of soul, dash of scratch,
mixed well and mastered even if it's two tracked.
Back to the grill again like MC Serch,
feels like '92, when the shit still worked.
Mista Min and Spinz doin' alright,
taking home trophy's like groupies on Grammy night.
Stars shine bright, but the moon is full,
so the stars take a back seats, like rapper's like werewolves.
Out all night, just to cook up hot shit.
It goes straight to your head like common logic.
It's common knowledge, can't comment on Oxnard.
Emcee's with the breeze, eight - oh - five time to breath.
Spreadin' world wide just like a disease.
While the rest on their knees you want to know what it takes.
A whole lot of time, heart, sacrifice, pain, tears, money, broads.
Uh-huh, this is the classic ingredients for a hip hop track.
Mista Min:
Now it's time for the second course,
spicy Latin leaving your throat a little horse.
It's a bit sweet but savory with styles
started with Puerto Rican b-boys actin the wild
then they switch the game to smoking black and milds,
and toking weed, pulling seeds, but today's green is celery.
We'll break it and then cut, we'll break it and then cut.
Loop it around and stir it up,
scoop it now, keep the fresh, burn it now
cause it ain't Kentucky fried.
We like to keep it live and raw with brawls in the underground.
Beatbox with no thunder sound
leaves the taste with too much pop.
No Britney, no Mariah, real hip hop,
no skinny, no liars, no crack rock.
Real party dish for the whole Fam to love
and mom and dad can express their inner thug,
Uncle Tom's don't hang with us!
We ain't mad just the grub's not enough.
Hungry for beef? Best have cheese in high sums.
Klippstone:
I be cookin' over your hot and glowin' stove top,
style, rhymes and flow,
ask the DJ, he's about to bring some cold cuts.
Chop some syllables and put'em in a pot.
I keep feedin' ya, till you throw up
and even then I won't stop.
Maybe when the last ones scared,
I'll start to worry about quittin',
but for the next 20 years, I seen, I hope I keep
spitten on and on. Keep spittin' in your soup man.
Turn this record up, keep playin' it in a loop.
We embody this lifestyle to the fullest,
from our flex fitted caps, down to the Nike kicks.
This is real shit. Yo, I start to shiver
the way we deliver tight raps.
We sliver opinions, we're like the needle in the hay stack.
Kick back, huh, this is music on a silver platter,
refined with dope skills; ain't no chitter-chatter!
You can do it better? First digest and get it right.
Me, Mista Min, Spinz, bon appe-tight!
