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