Whoo!

Uh, uh, uh

Come on

All the pretty ladies just clap your hands

Clap your hands, clap your hands

All the pretty ladies just clap your hands

I just got some news today

Everything I wished for came my way

Love and peace and big money

More new members in the family

Haters finally dropped their guns

Wasn't loaded anyway, scared no one

Went from ten bodyguards to none

If they don't read, then posse no fun

But here come Calibama talkin' mo' stuff

Guess a hundred million records ain't enough

All-Stars are comin' from the first to last

Anybody don't can

Stay quiet while I bring the noise

We just got some brand new toys

If y'all ready just show me love

Watch Calibama get bugged

Uh, all the pretty ladies just clap your hands

All the funky brothers dance to my band

Ha, NPG cuttin' up your rug

Uh, watch Calibama get bugged

Verbal coat in flattery

Drum machine electricity

Every time I look I see

Another facsimile

Pick and drumstick not in hand

See no music on the stand

Grab your partner, gather 'round

This is how we all get down

Whoo! All the pretty ladies just clap your hands

All the funky brothers dance to my band

NPG, NPG cuttin' up your rug

Uh, lawd, watch Calibama get bugged

Come on

Horns

Uh

Horns

Uh, uh

Like a rim shot on a New Roots joint

My band's tight, yeah

Anointed, all natural

Pass my tape, go straight to jail

And another thing, when I sing

Black and white hold hands

Start clappin' when we enter the jam

Back dance if you wanna just clap your hands

Here we come, y'all, uh

Prisoner Band

Good God

All the pretty ladies just clap your hands

All the funky brothers dance to my band

Uh, New Power G, yeah, we got a new drug

Here we come, y'all, Prisoner Band

Look out

Happy 'cause we just got paid

Free from all contracts

Chillin' in the shade of the sun's light

Oh, we got it right

Distribute your own, make a mil' overnight

Before the tax come, quick buy some land

Don't build nothin', just clap your hands

Don't build nothin', just clap your hands

Here we come, y'all, uh

Prisoner Band

Ha, Prisoner Band

Oh, hear me now

Record labels used to be a friend of mine

Now they're just a monumental waste of time

Sell a million records, make a dollar a pop

You're still on recruit when your band get dropped

Got your own label but you're givin' 'em half

Expenses off the top, who's takin' a bath?

Seven years of grind like it's only your name

Is what you pay to keep yourself a slave to that game

And what you can't do alone is not worth the fame

All of y'all get older but I still look the same

Too funky, y'all can't understand

Just clap your hands, just clap your hands

Uh, the Prisoner Band