To Whom It May Concern Lyrics - Black Sheep

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

The sugar D I C D A D I E 

That's just a title, explaining who I be 

Mista l A W N G E 

I take a sucker from any phil and injure thee 

Now that I've spelled it out, and you like the way it sounds 

I'm dissing rap music, and rap music on the grounds 

You say i'm full of sheep, and for that I give a pound 

The sugar dick daddy, Mista Lawnge to break it down 

Ladies, step to me for a real neat treat 

And if you don't wanna call me Lawnge, you can call me sweet meat 

I wear protection, you won't catch claps here 

Come over later, but first go get a pap smear 

Nine point five okay dear? And don't forget clean underwear 

'Cause I don't want the funk to flow 

After after I'm done, yo, ya, gotta go 

'Don't you know ho, don tcha know ho' 

Okay, enough is enough, time to get that off my bladder 

And dig deep into the subject matter 

You know what? 

You know what? 

I'm sick and tired of rappers not real 

And suckers makin' it with a pop feel 

Labels signin' acts with nuff bills 

Tax write off, 'cause you have no skills 

You go make a demo, get a deal and start to sprout 

Gold, platinum, and then start sellin' out 

You get a Benz and trash the Nova 

Double platinum, and start crossin' over 

Then you get fall, I won't give examples 

Hint, hint, they use the same old samples 

But not the sheep, for we are sleek and unique 

Top of the peek and others are weak 

Follow the words that I speak, the situation is bleak 

But this is the fly shit that you seek 

When the style is dope, Mista Lawnge's a particapator 

If you wanna battle, later 

'Cause black sheep are certified greater than 

But, I said later man 

'I can dig it' 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what? 

I turn on the radio, be a prime time to a late night rap show 

Here, the same old, same old, and that's on your, new single 

Your product, is a product, of no productivity 

Can ya, see G? You kick a wack style 

And claim to have brains 

Take the funky drummer and give him back to James 

I'm dope, I'm dope, heh, I can't cope 

Keep your cordless, 'cause you bore this 

You say you're sure, yeah, but I'm the surest 

That, black sheep are unique, funk clever brothers that will 

Make the church girl freak, out, without a doubt 

You have no wins in a '91 bout, so shout, pout,do what you want 

But you're out the picture, and I'ma get you sucka 

'Cause youse a dumb mothafucka, better off as a tractor trail trucker 

But movin' right along to the Woodstock 

Stop, remember when the band was on rock 

Negro music, heh, seperated, it blew up and became rap 

And you hated it, that's of course till you see 

A motherfucker that, could be in your family 

Drop lyrics then you hear it, with glee, then only thing it tells me 

Is that you know a good thing, when you see it 

You run to get a ten, 'cause you cannot be it 

So, off the top off my head, I guess I keep it rollin' 

Till the rap gets stolen 

Like so many other things called theft 

And when it's gone what will be left 

You sucker, dumb fucker don't turn blue 

You know what? 

Talkin' to you 

You know what? 

Chump 

You know what? 

You know what? 

You know what?