From the Heights, not what am I write, simple I can do this
Like Popeye to [bad word]  I'm your host like a stewardess
Fly with the neighborhood hijackin' fella
So prepare for landing and crash into a cellar

Bodies in the Buddha cloud, misty in the tune
Like a show all nights, a figure eight in a lagoon
With Pete Rock, [bad word] lock and beat stop
Now all the horny heffers wanna dangle on my

Down by the dungeon with the cracks on the wall
Buffoon I'm like a mink while you're soon to pimp a raccoon stole
Vocal arrangement, ready set to hit the pavement
But not before the kid leave the basement

The basement, put the Funk in Grand [bad word] my man
My brother, Grap Lover, get wreck cousin, c'mon

Call me the Grap Lover, yes, the younger Soul Brother
Keep your eyes on the prize 'cause you won't find another
When the funk is played, the rhyme I display
Quick to bust a ditz so don't slip in the way

Of the kid with the flavor, the party people savior
Clockin' all the honies, eyes sharp like a razor
I kick a dance step, you're soon to discover
Yo, that's the kid from "Mecca And The Soul Brother"

Yeah once in a while I be with CL on the DL
Or I flow with Pete and find my placement in The Basement
The Basement, yes where the beats and the rhymes flow
Peace I gotta go, Grapster's out the door of the basement

Of the basement, next we got, a special guest
I ain't gonna tell you who it is
C'mon, rap along

Tick, tock, tick, things are gettin' thick [bad word] the Heavster and I know it makes ya sick
To see a black man gettin' paid on the regular
Car with the cellular, fellas I'm tellin' ya

I got plots and plans, pots and pans
Stocks and grands, so make room for the big man
I walk the streets in peace and I'm never strapped
But I know a crew of Young Gunz that'll send you back

So easy does it on the DL
Peace to Pete Rock and the Mecca Don CL
Heavy D's on this track, lettin' you know there's no replacement
Peace signin' off, check one two straight from the basement

Straight from the Basement
I'm tellin' you now, kid, it's crazy fat
I wonder who this [bad word]  up?

Fourth but not least, the backbone of the Wig Out
Freestyle, crazy hardcore, no sellout
Speakin', upon where I dwell from the dungeon
All over the U.S. states, even London

Past and present, black to the future
Swimmin' in beats like a Dolphin, so call me Don Shula
Raider well like Art Shell, crazy defense
Pro Bowl with soul for local events

The crew name is CL Smooth and Pete Rock
Here to sail when I prevail and stare into the dock
The Pimp Daddy of the funk flavor, catch you later
Clever like a secret [bad word]  from the basement

That's right, crazy funky
Aww, my man
He's crazy funky, his name is Rob-O, check him out

Alikazaam, you'll never guess what I am
Motto is that nothin' ever changes but haircuts and kicks
To stacks of vocal breaks life pays when
Kid said, "Pete makes beats in the basement"

Cold hit, the pavement, over to the chill side
The real side, the 7-7 hillside
I thought I'd just chill, take a breath
Straight up Columbus Hill, make a left and get fixed

Plus the ghetto chicks got flicks
Of me stacks of kicks, my joint's bumpin' lovely
Walkin' down the street, much props, on the [bad word] 
Yo, I hear voices sayin', "That's Rob-O Dingo in the basement"
Ahh, yeah, this is funky
I can feel it
My man from the Vernon, his name is Dida, make it raw
Fly like an eagle, a seagull
Always into somethi'n, like Snoopy, the Beagle
People, grab a tight hold of the sound
Hard, snatchin' raw papes off the shelves
Blowin' up spots from state to state [bad word]