| We finnin' to get these motherfuckas
|
| Eh eh man, what’s up nigga?
|
| You motherfucka!
|
| Take that motherfuckas!
|
| I creep from out the woodworks, where they can’t run
|
| Jumpin' out a clown car, with a paint gun
|
| 95 rappers deep, and we still coming
|
| Make you want to grab your heat, or maybe keep running
|
| Yo baby keep it runnin' we about to regulate!
|
| If I ain’t back in five minutes, evacuate
|
| Blow up the place cause I’m sho' 'gon blow the spot
|
| I hope my mic’s close, cause that’s all I got
|
| And my balls and my words and my many styles
|
| That’s why y’all 'bout to get served right now
|
| I got surveillance, on you and your assailants
|
| I smell the fragrance, of a foul MC flagrant
|
| I come for the jabberjaws, and blabbermouths
|
| Split 'em, tongue and cheek, turn a rapper out
|
| Inside out show 'em, what you’re made of
|
| It ain’t no love, when push comes to shove
|
| I supersoak they sucka ass with a rainwater gun
|
| Claim that they wanted heat, so I brought 'em some
|
| Caught his ass in traffic, remained very calm
|
| Hit him with a matchstick, and a cherrybomb
|
| He ducked the first shot banked into a parking lot
|
| He hit the curb- damn look how high that car can hop!
|
| The transmission did a bellyflop on the ground
|
| Both of the front tires blew and he spinned around
|
| Doors flew open and they all started splittin' up
|
| So I pulled out the babyface and started spittin' up
|
| I guess you thought everything was all fine and dandy
|
| That’s why I had to lay your ass on this cotton candy
|
| All I remember was. |
| chaos in the shopping center
|
| A crashed car with little Jack on the antenna
|
| And all he seen was a clown face in the crowd
|
| And somebody in his ear laughin' hella loud
|
| I caught him at the carnival, on my home turf
|
| Right up in the audience, at the Greatest Show on Earth
|
| Loaded up the human cannon, and put the homie in
|
| Shot his ass to his seat, to get his ass again
|
| 25 gumballs, in a tubesock
|
| Beat him like he stole some’m, until the dude dropped
|
| Tie him up with licorice, he’s gettin' a little scratchy
|
| Slap him up and gag his ass, with a handful of taffy
|
| Put him on a unicycle, and send him down a hill
|
| Put a nose and wig on him, so we can clown for real
|
| Got a problem come to me, or go to Bozo
|
| Krusty or my homie Homey, and that’s fo' sho' though |