| Niggas, pick up your feet and get it moving because
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| Our situation ain’t improving wit the Five-0
|
| We’re moving in to all the units and the side show
|
| When you’re clueless and foolish and driving under the influence
|
| You’ll be dead on arrival
|
| Niggas, pick up your feet and get it moving because
|
| Our situation ain’t improving wit the Five-0
|
| We’re moving in to all the units and the side show
|
| When you’re clueless and foolish and driving under the influence
|
| You’ll be dead on arrival
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| Metallic ballad, drum machine mallet
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| That may release a pallet of celebrity droppings on the cat walk
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| They were spoon fed to reduce back talk
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| Give you a bloody, little for your money
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| Cause I caulked your honey
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| Just because she got a runny clit
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| Saying she wants a man in touch with her feelings
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| But she’d rather get fucked to the ceiling
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| Hasn’t menstruated in months she’s concealing
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| Part of her’s sick and breathes and clucks
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| And eats nothing but chicken feed, ear plugs
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| A bum is what she wants stricken with greed
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| She’ll have you collecting change into to tin cups
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| She’ll eat up your cum drops like gum drops
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| But her young twat’s hot like sun spots
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| Fate cannot be determined by a Ouija board
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| But by the cd and mix boards
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| To say out the fifth word of this chord against yours
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| And try to swim to shore
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| I’m not controlled by a recessive gene
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| I wore my impressor jeans
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| Looking for the best of things
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| Swimming in infested streams
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| Taking advantage of big chested queens
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| Busdriver, the master of the freedom of speech
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| On the mean streets where you been seen sleep
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| And your teams weak and that’s why
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| You want your (?)
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| And mother fuckers are so righteous
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| Talking bout get rid of the white bitch
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| Stop rapping high pitched
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| But it’s my niche, I’ll do what I wish
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| I took a leap of faith over a knee brace
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| But in any case, you’re just an empty face
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| Who drinks henny chased, with a weed that’s laced
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| I’ve achieved my place
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| I didn’t win it in a sweepstakes
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| So if you sneak on my estate
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| It better be by mistake or leave needing a knee brace
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| Ah Jeez don’t hate, we don’t high speed chase
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| We don’t speak to cheap skates, or eat beef stakes
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| Now, with a feta aid I made cheese and papes
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| And sold heaps of tapes and made niggas replace
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| But they’re snooty ballers, spending most of their time at beauty parlors
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| But never would I infringe the West or mend and press
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| Or pinch your breast, cause I been fresh in every way
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| And I’ll singe my flesh if I ever betray
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| So read 'em and weep and make the coin sweep
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| Busdriver, mastered the freedom of speech
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| I’ll never be beneath, the mean streets
|
| Niggas, pick up your feet and get it moving because
|
| Our situation ain’t improving wit the Five-0
|
| We’re moving in to all the units and the side show
|
| When you’re clueless and foolish and driving under the influence
|
| You’ll be dead on arrival
|
| Niggas, pick up your feet and get it moving because
|
| Our situation ain’t improving wit the Five-0
|
| We’re moving in to all the units and the side show
|
| When you’re clueless and foolish and driving under the influence
|
| You’ll be dead on arrival |