Sole Sunday - Instrumental

Yeah, yeah, yo

Gipp keep it slow poke, hang out inside with no robe

Sit in the tub, flick the remote, and soak

Pull up, jump out, then I strut for 'em

And if anybody got problems, I'ma cut form

In this atmosphere, now you can disappear

Smoke thick, shells bail like tailbacks looking for holes

Drag my ass down the ave like a cab

Scar that ass, leave your shirt open like an Arab

Making money off these breakdown slabs

We got this zone, get your own

Better move on before your fork get split, you won't forget

The D.F. put it down, now get down or sit down

Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly

Pardon me if I shake your soul

I got it, I got it, shawty, yeah (it's our ball, uh), ooh-ya

I tackle my problems, never run from my foes

Stiff-arm facemask, hit the juke button, then leave a sucka froze

Like he just tried to shove a whole ki' up in his nose

Oh, naw, folks (fo'), you hit 'em high, I hit 'em low, for this dough

Your heart gon' bust out here, 'cause we comin' full speed

With the intent to lift you up off of your feet

At the lift of the glass, sippin' victory, clean cut, but I stay dirty

Uh, you play fair, I cheat

I spike this pig in yo' face, like you never stopped eatin' pork or beef

End diseases and careers

Tenacious on this gridiron, All-Pro Hall of Famer, with no fears

Blood, sweat, and tears, oh

So, yeah, yeah

Sunday, yeah, yeah

Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly

Pardon me if I shake your soul, ooh-ya

The rich boy got that bag 'cause he is rich

The poor boy gotta bag 'cause he is poor

The bad boy got it bad 'cause he want both

The good girl got it good 'cause she got game

And runs it on undeveloped fellas considered lame

Same like mechanics do it, baby, who need her Buick

Repaired, don't have no knowledge of what a brake shoe is

Make woo-ood turn to nickle, sperm and tickle

We wiggle, numb your emotions like a dill pickle

In autumn, fall into the bottom of black holes

Make a left on nothingness, 'cause that's where I'm at

Cold as summer, I got yo' number, you got my number

Let's add 'em, see what we come with, maybe we could slumber

Like uh, Babies and bums, and retarded ones, uh

Dolphins and whales are the smartest ones, so

Nothing you can do can be new up under the sun

Depending what sun you live under, you can be the one on

Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly

Pardon me if I shake your soul

(Yeah), ooh-ya

Ain't no Sunday School this morning, they say somebody blowed up the church

What's even worse than that, I heard Pastor Jenkins, he got hurt

By the perpetrators, demonstrators of violence and hatred

It's fin' to be 2001, the rojo-necks are racist

Fascists acting savage on the Sabbath, must be demons

Errand boys for Satan, defeated when I repeated

"Rebuke thee, rebuke thee," the look in they eye was spooky

But now I find myself in the park, sittin' in my hooptie

Like a movie, I was daydreamin' and everything seemed real (real)

But now I'm at Mozley Park, and we got some chicken on the grill (grill)

Get a beer (beer), nigga, chill (chill), roll a junt (junt), pop a pill (pill)

Cop a feel from some cut, as we do it like this here, on

On any (ah) given Sunday

Ah, a legend will be born

A tradition will be broken

Ah, victory is yours

On any given Sunday

Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly

Pardon me if I shake your soul, ooh-ya