Released: July 17, 2012
Songwriter: MF DOOM Masta Ace
Producer: MF DOOM
[Verse 1]
I'ma throw it like Santana
Jo-han, yo man is a ho like damn Santa
Lemme illustrate like Dan Hanna
What I am, see this man is a grandstanda
I'm a grand planna, and what I want is
40 acres, no mule, land in Atlanta
Sand in Havana, ran to Indiana
Then came back for the green like Bruce Banner
Used to rock a bandana
And dream of driving in a car same color as a ban-ana
But now I'm smarter than a fifth grader
Which hater wanna try to rub it in like hand sani-
-tizer, realize that I'm a lot wiser
But I won't blow my top like a hot geyser
So put away the damn camera
I don't smoke coco, po po on the damn scanner
Hoping they can apprehend, African-
American men in a planned manner
But I ain't fallin' for the okey-doke
So back away, and turn yourself around like the hokey poke
Is this a racist nation or is it just my imagination
Like the song that Smokey wrote
[Hook]
Tonight on this very mic you about to hear, I swear, the best darn artist of the year
So so cheerio yell scream bravo, also, if you didn't know, this is called Da' Pro
I'm-I'm-I'm-I'm-I'm a professional, and that's no question yo
[Verse 2]
I be the...
Gateway, better know the fact
The way that some believe the weed might lead to the coke or crack
I'mma take you onto harder shit
This a starter kit
To bring back what is dope in rap
The game's up in traction right now
And that shit on the radio: broken back
Or worse yet: stroke attack
You like it rough? It's the Brooklyn Strangler
Choke a track
I be hopin' that
Maybe one day, them old clubs I used to go to: open back
I'm so nostalgic, I'mma yoke a cat
Because of the fact he stepped on my Croaker sacks
Nah I'm lyin', never had a pair
Where I'm from 40 Belows and fatigues was the outer wear
Want y'all to hear me loud and clear
If you don't care for the real shit then get outta here
[Hook]
I'ma throw it like Santana
Jo-han, yo man is a ho like damn Santa
Lemme illustrate like Dan Hanna
What I am, see this man is a grandstanda
I'm a grand planna, and what I want is
40 acres, no mule, land in Atlanta
Sand in Havana, ran to Indiana
Then came back for the green like Bruce Banner
Used to rock a bandana
And dream of driving in a car same color as a ban-ana
But now I'm smarter than a fifth grader
Which hater wanna try to rub it in like hand sani-
-tizer, realize that I'm a lot wiser
But I won't blow my top like a hot geyser
So put away the damn camera
I don't smoke coco, po po on the damn scanner
Hoping they can apprehend, African-
American men in a planned manner
But I ain't fallin' for the okey-doke
So back away, and turn yourself around like the hokey poke
Is this a racist nation or is it just my imagination
Like the song that Smokey wrote
[Hook]
Tonight on this very mic you about to hear, I swear, the best darn artist of the year
So so cheerio yell scream bravo, also, if you didn't know, this is called Da' Pro
I'm-I'm-I'm-I'm-I'm a professional, and that's no question yo
[Verse 2]
I be the...
Gateway, better know the fact
The way that some believe the weed might lead to the coke or crack
I'mma take you onto harder shit
This a starter kit
To bring back what is dope in rap
The game's up in traction right now
And that shit on the radio: broken back
Or worse yet: stroke attack
You like it rough? It's the Brooklyn Strangler
Choke a track
I be hopin' that
Maybe one day, them old clubs I used to go to: open back
I'm so nostalgic, I'mma yoke a cat
Because of the fact he stepped on my Croaker sacks
Nah I'm lyin', never had a pair
Where I'm from 40 Belows and fatigues was the outer wear
Want y'all to hear me loud and clear
If you don't care for the real shit then get outta here
[Hook]