"Fu-Gee-La (Refugee Camp Remix)" lyrics - FUGEES

FUGEES

"Fu-Gee-La (Refugee Camp Remix)"

(Lauryn Hill / Wyclef Jean / Teena Marie / Allen McGrier / Prakazrel Michel / Salaam Remi)

feat. John Forte

Can I feel a vibe
Can I feel a vibe

We used to be number ten, but now we're permanent one
Wyclef, Preacher's Son, Ichi bang
Listen Mrs. Tin Can, I'm your candy handy man
Me without you is like American without the Band Stand
Cool fellow, dancehall stay mellow
All that gun talk, who would have thought you died yellow
Damn, another hero wannabe
Now he sleeps with his friends in the mortuary
Dude, I find it rude, when you intrude
My pistol nozzle hits your nasal, doodoo comes out your anal
Just because you're buff, don't play tough
'Cause I'll reverse the earth and turn your flesh back to dust

Ooh-la-la-la, it's the way that we rock when we're doing our ting
Ooh-la-la-la, it's the natural la that the Refugees bring
Ooh, la la la la la la la-la la-la-la, sweet ting
She love me like no other before

Dig it, I stay high off the Fu-Gee-La
Bust when we rush through
You must do ruckus crew
Got G's like the Refu's, so F U
Ever want to test, bring me stress
West coast back to east
Grab my toast when I reach
Truly curvin', swervin', lifestyle is urban
Sippin' bourbon, surviving
We real to keep the word
When a boy want to be, test this set
Then you get wet up
Just a bit too unprepared to shoot him, fair bet

Fake bullets can't scar me
I can smell the weak out like safari
Play you out like Atari
Sacrifice you harikari
And I'm sorry
To every single rapper, Dick and Harry
Saying they want to spar me
'Cause how thick my repertoiree
And my memoir be
Reminding me of eating calamari
In the Kalahari
With a band of Rastafari, so
Hahahaha, you shouldn't diss Refugees, and
Hahahaha, and your whole sound's set bootie, and

Ooh-la-la-la, it's the way that we rock when we're doing our ting
Ooh-la-la-la, it's the remix sound and all the Refugees bring
Ooh, la la la la la la la-la la-la-la, sweet ting
She love me like no other before (dig it)

I sit 90 degrees underneath palm trees
Sitting in the cool breeze in the West Indies
Flee to sea, ship my keys
On Santa Maria, sip sangria with senoritas
(They keep telling me this, telling me that)
They smile in my face, then they talk behind my back
But what they lack is the facts about my stats
My rap impact will kill you softly like Roberta Flack

Ayo, what's goin' on
Armageddon come, you know when we soon done
Gun by my side just in case I gotta rump
A boy on the side of Babylon
Trying to front like he's down with Mount Zion

Call Mr. Martin
Tell him to build a coffin
Today is dead season
A hundred dead seas, I get my dervin