Yeah, yeah
Ayo, professor, it's time.
It's time, professor (alright, professor, begin).
Straight out the young dudes of rap.
The music drops deep as does my book.
I never write, 'cause to write is the mother of look.
Beyond the walls of heads, life is defined.
I think of writing when I'm in a Norwich state of mind.
Hope the overlook got some crook.
My cook don't like no dirty look.
Run up to the outlook and get the hook.
In a Norwich state of mind.
What more could you ask for? The witty music?
You complain about philosophy.
But somebody still speaks for the dudes of rap.
I'm rappin' to the college,
And I'm gonna move your knowledge.
Pretty, cool, white, black, like poetry
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were melody.
I can't take the philosophy, can't take the beat.
I woulda tried to read I guess I got no treat.
I'm rappin' to the knowledge,
And I'm gonna move your college.
Yea, yaz, in a Norwich state of mind.
When I was young my mother had a receipt.
I waz kicked out without no seat.
I never thought I'd see that meet.
Ain't a soul alive that could take my mother's treat.
A loud studio is quite the flow.
Thinking of writing. Yaz, thinking of writing.