Intellectual Dons

(*B-Real sings the chorus on 11 seconds*)

[Intro: Barron Ricks]

What's up we gonna go down the line baby

Brand new one from the Call O Da Wild

Give big shouts to money makin Manhattan

145th street crews, 155th street crews

All my niggas on the East Side

We gonna flip the track baby, flip the script like this

Big shouts to all the weed spots and all that who know how we do

Chorus: (B-Real)

Don't want to do it but they wanna

Just the Intellectual ganja puffin dons causing trauma

Don't want to do it but they wanna

Just the Intellectual trauma causing dons

[Verse 1: Chic Moleek]

Moon-Finger Willie slap hard, Moleeks Chic

Spilling Barcadi on club seats

Harps rub the DK-crease-NY's fully featured Harlem recriminate

You dualistic heathens of the street, all malfunction cease

Crews stand like mannequins sporting damaged Timb's

Army caps or flat burns in self-discipline

Insubordinate men of sin, few convinced they fit descriptions of movie men

Experienced at heart with cinematographers having captured raw footage of this

Mischievous black kid dipped in black hooches

Ruthless, shot the car swindler

Stupid used to pump Luther in ya cougar

Now let the Call alter futures

[Chorus]

[Verse 2: Barron Ricks]

B. Ricks stands synonymous to Cagney flicks

And dime bags of Cambodian manifest the Buddha bless

Impressively dressed, permanent quest for success

Uninterested in materialistic games to get the sex

The five six, a living portrait of survival tactics

Keeping my enemies close and all my niggas at a distance

What is this?

Sheist characters spreading my business

Fragments that can't manage to do damage

Yo, I've had it

Environmental pressure causing static

In the fabric of this Asiatic cabbage

It's madness on this uncivilized, thou with juveniles run these avenues

Buckwild with crews now who is it?

Makin all you critics fiend these lyrics

It be the Call

Yes y'all, coming through on your premise

This is it

[Chorus]

[Interlude: Barron Ricks]

KnowI'msayin?

Big shouts to my St. Nick projects connection knowI'msayin?

All my brothers on 113th & Lexington Ave knowI'msayin?

Big shouts to the LES baby we see you

[Verse 3: Chic Moleek]

Put on stellar performances

While niggas place bids at auto auctions

Re-model frames and changing rusty engines

According to my informants

Fools wanna shorten my life and slice the vital organs

It's not important towards this lyrical dissertation

Tossing idols, cease recitals of bibles, breaking vinyl

Finally spotting spirals, perhaps

They spinning our wax on Ides

Sport the blackest Gore's on elegant floors

Strategic operations make em insecure

Gypsy cabs are flagged on aves, DC that stamped them Ave breaking detours

Affiliates with my predominately black landscape

Hops in squad, I watch the sling shot from rotting up your pin spot

Jostling, digging pockets, playing possum

I got them on the X-ray fished, ain't nothing popping

Volunteers who interfere in affairs, they disappear

[Chorus]

[Outro: Barron Ricks]

Ah man that's the Call O' Da Wild flavor baby

I can't take it no more I'm outta here baby

But before we get up outta here, I wanna give big shouts to all the Buddha spots that made this possible

Big shouts to the 99 cents store baby

The discount health food store knowI'msayin?

All my brothers on Lennox Ave with that good goodness

Big shouts to the bodybag shop

To all you other Buddha spots, all your Rasta crew with the incense

Yeah we out baby

Don't forget to flip this to the other side

Get with that Call O' Da Wild baby, it's like that yeah