Heat It Up Lyrics - Singles - Midnight Spaghetti & The Chocolate G-strings

(Seth Casana; Mikael Glago) 

this is for all the space people 

who keep the one love 

no people who hate people 

no bull fecal 

to everybody kickin' it since the fetal posish' 

we grantin' your wish 

I want the volume above you filled with your fist 

if you got one, if not, just throw your hips 

if you don't got hips, well then you could flap your lips 

and if you're missing everything, well then I guess you're pretty hip 

to everybody on a robot tip 

just flip your transist', say "ohm" to your resist' 

grease up your gears and do the twist 

like you was sitting at the top of Big Bopper's list 

flaunt your creator's mastery of LISP 

and use your NLP to learn to shoot the gift 

but don't dis your hist' or I'm gonna be pissed 

me and ENIAC'll leave you sitting on the isthmus 

If you feeling woozy, wobbly, or groggy 

'cause you're not used to Earth's gravity 

just throw your sea legs in the air 

and disconnect'em like you just don't care 

Midnight Spaghetti heat it up 

Midnight Spaghetti eat it up 

Midnight Spaghetti what the funk 

Midnight Spaghetti going down 

Midnight Spaghetti on the microphone 

and Dr. Imani, cut it to the bone 

smell the funk of OrangeBand cologne 

you could roll with us or else go it alone 

Decaf Spoon, all up in your face 

gave you athelete's foot in your private place 

Dangus Kahn, invade your personal space 

y'all try to give chase, but wait, you can't take 

the ace of this race, got you sprayed with mace 

sprawled out on the floor like these rhymes have been laced 

if you pick a fight with us, man. get out your pen 

because you'll want to sign our very own dismemberment plan 

it pays $50,000 directly to your kids 

if I rip off your face when I hit it with my fist 

I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast 

that's right, I eat pieces of shit 

live like a king off of what you crap out 

while all you could do is crap out 

you get scratched out of the scorecard, 'cause there ain't no score 

only how many hor's d'oeuvres you can devour 

drinking more and more but only getting poor 

because you paid $30 just to get in the door 

ten more to park your car down the street at the store 

while some punk ass kid tryin' to jack your car door 

velour where the carpet should be down on the floor 

with ultra-fine girlies gyrating galore 

boots, booty pants, bras and nothing more 

all the while wondering what in the world it's all for 

but your said, "Turn it up some more!" 

that's why we gonna play a little encore 

see, we can keep the funk alive all night long 

even when we play a creepy song 

Midnight Spaghetti turn it up 

Midnight Spaghetti burn it up 

Midnight Spaghetti what the funk 

Midnight Spaghetti going down