So when I drip drop my tip top
I don't stop till hips rock
You flip flop I rip spots
Yours flim flam mine top notch
Spit strong shots grab long crotch
No love wrong bad songs not
Read no clock keep no Glock
Pimp cream hot sauce fire SHOCK

The year is nineteen ninety
I'm headed back to Atlanta, to find my girl's son Tiny
he's tall, handsome as the Devil, as slick talking, and with the Devil he run
I'm almost forty, so my livin is done
saw the wife die, a boy sent off, two twenty year bids
other boy was a doctor till his heart sk-skipped (for the last time…)
now I'm leeeavin, on the next Amtrak train
to get my girl's son to stop dealin that cocaine
and come back to mama, run the record store like papa did
and let me marry mama so that I can finish livin proper…

When I get there, Tiny even ain't in the slums
has a nice house in Little Five and even more fun
spinnin dubstep sets at a club called Bohemia
in Underground, or reggae at a place near Perimeter
Mall with strippers and all, but, shit, he's recording
sure to win some awards, cuz that shit is sounded good, damn,

"…come on, Uncle Heavy…" he picks me up from Hartsfield,
buys me lobster steak and two shopping carts of threads, feelin
nice, lookin nice, met an English lady at the Ramada,
she says she's a reporter, "looking for music's next Spanish Armada"
I say, my soon to be son-in-law DJ got the hot fieyah, harder
than whatever you listening to, plus he knows all the good bars…

We dance feeling good like it was '81
I like Tiny's Mom but this Brit got me stunned
Her name is Mary don't like a day over forty one
and dances crazy with her hair all done up
I don't think kids today are into crime and dope
If they are just let's hope its fine Buddha smoke
…I call Tiny's mom. She says "what
You gonna move back to there where the kids fuck
at age thirteen and eat greasy wings?
And listen to that crazy demon music they sing?"
I say "maybe but at least ya boy ain't dealin, babe,
sorry if I didn't call earlier, I thought he'd take
days and days to find, but in the mean-time,
he's been treatin me, he's king of the bump and grind…"

BOOOOOP… Just a hangup, dang, Tiny, sho nuff
yo mama trippin on you but you livin right so what's up?
"What's up with me…? More like with you," his reply.
I look at him serious till we both laugh until we cry.
"You right. How can I marry girl if she disown her only son
all for playin music stead of getting a job back in Brooklun?"

So when I drip drop my tip top
I don't stop till hips rock
You flip flop I rip spots
Yours flim flam mine top notch
Spit strong shots grab long crotch
No love wrong bad songs not
Read no clock keep no Glock
Pimp cream hot sauce fire SHOCK

[Then we just listen to the music… talk funk albums…
Also, he has these crazy Japanese art records he samples—wow, son…
Sound like insects growing out of the speakers,
Covering the room in crazy paint, or something, e'en freakier…
"Damn, Uncle Heavy, you a wordsmith…"
Stop sassin me, boy… Go get the beat, get on with it.]

Returning to the problem of my girl, Tiny's mother
In my room at the Ramada, under itchy bed covers
as that British lady paces the room, she can't sleep.
I say, "Mary, the boy is fine, what do I do, sheeyit…?
Feels like we known each other in some past life or something."
"…What if you just continued to do nothing?"
Hm, well, good. I guess I'll just stay down by Stone Mount
chillin with the DJs, Tiny's friends, the whole South.
After a couple months, my girl in New York is flabbergasted.
"Get the boy and you and come back up or I am past it."
"Past what—?" "Past the point of not breaking stuff—bridges burned,
through the roof, you know the deal, you Heavy Worm!"
…Shit, I think I better go. But you know you got the flow
with the ones and twos you bruise, so, Tiny—always keep it jumpin, bro.
Before I hop a plane and calm your mom and make some lame
excuse for why you still in A-T-L, just give me Mary's screenname.
Heh, bet you kids can't instant message or text faster
than that old Heavy Jamz, official Rhyme Sex Ambassador.
So turn up that one track gets played by all the local disc jocks,
Something like my man Tiny is that PIMP CREAM HOT SAUCE FIRE SHOCK…

So when I drip drop my tip top
I don't stop till hips rock
You flip flop I rip spots
Yours flim flam mine top notch
Spit strong shots grab long crotch
No love wrong bad songs not
Read no clock keep no Glock
Pimp cream hot sauce fire SHOCK