Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hound Dogs, artist - Insane Clown Posse. Album song Featuring Freshness, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.10.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Psychopathic
Song language: English
Hound Dogs |
Shit, motherfuckin' hound dogs, what? |
Swingin' from my balls so hard |
It’s like I got a third nut and look |
I don’t care who you know, bitch |
Lookin' fine, get the fuck back to the end of the line |
Like the hoe said, «You's my cousin like my mamma |
And your mamma are sisters or something» |
Oh yeah, we down, go ahead, let 'em in blah nuckle |
Hammers to the chin, be down with me and I’ll be down back |
Put my dick in your mouth, you’re gonna hear your neck snap |
In fact, hoe, fuck out my bus |
Ask questions like a mute but they down to front |
You see 'em, come, you see, go, you see 'em come again |
From my dick to Twiztids dick and then me |
To Violent J’s dick then Blazes dick |
Try to grope us with their balls, goddamn hound dogs |
Bow wow wow, yippy yo yippy yay |
Hound dogs ain’t got shit to say |
Bow wow wow, yippy yo yippy yay |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
What’s the whole meanin' of a hound dog? |
What butt sniffin', dick lickin', all kinda role, y’all |
I’m in a club, smokin on a Square |
Step on out to get a little fresh air but I can’t do that |
I get attacked like a cardiac |
People runnin' side to back like sianak |
Ain’t nothin' wrong with givin' me props |
But actin' like the punk ass cop swingin' off my nuts |
Gotta stop walk around spreadin' rumors like you know |
'Cuz you heard me tell a hoe after a show |
Only I don’t play that shit one bit |
Fuck around and get your head cut off right quick |
Psychopathic bitch boy meet the axe |
Specializin' splittin' hound dogs backs |
Plottin' against the whole world of facts |
So get off my dick and I’m out like that, alright |
Y’all wait, come here, oh my god, you don’t remember me? |
Nah, I had a crush on you for like 9 years |
I don’t know you, fat bitch, it’s me |
Jenny, I sat behind you in Ms. Crawberry’s chemistry class |
Bitch, I ain’t even go to school |
No, I’m saying if you were to sit there it would’ve been the shit |
You think you could sign my shirt? |
He-he-he-he-he |
Yeah, I remember school, hoes back then like 'Joe Bruce-eeww' |
Years passed by and look I’m a start, now all them hoes like 'Joe Bruce-ahh' |
I’m still that nerdy ass voodoo nut, now I got hound dogs sniffin' my butt |
I could have a worm hangin out of my dick hole |
And they’d be like, «Well, I think it’s cute though» |
Missed me with all that, I ain’t changed any |
Look at me, I make Big Pun look skinny |
I’m ugly as fuck, resemblin' a cling-on |
Hoes still let me give my ding-a-ling a swing on |
What’s up with these pop kids buyin' my shit, Mainstream? |
Groupies, get off my dick, I wanna see real juggalos at shows |
Fuck these backstreet richies fake hoes |
Bow wow wow, yippy yo yippy yay |
Hound dogs ain’t got shit to say |
Bow wow wow, yippy yo yippy yay |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
You don’t even know who the fuck I am |
That bitch’s like «Who's his friend» |
Goddamn, my lips is crusty, my feet is musty |
Lift up my nuts and my itch is dusty |
I ain’t had pussy in eleven years |
I been dead, ain’t nobody sheadin' tears |
Look, bitch, I don’t give a fuck about fame |
Glock cocked 'cuz you bitches |
'Cuz I’m married to the game |
Ain’t no shame for the shit I speak |
Slap hound dog bitches in the face for weeks |
Freak, I see you hatin' on my Raiders cap |
When back in the day you was all about |
That shot that ass out back in '89 |
Berry wearin' lopes and is clocked for mine |
Rose from the dead with the lotus clique |
My gun played out and I ain’t changin' shit |
Hey, aren’t you Monoxide Child? |
That’s right, bitch |
Right the skinny one, my best friend John’s supposed to be cousins |
With you or somethin', Who? |
So like I figured if you give me your phone number |
I could give it to him and maybe |
We all could hang out or something, whatever |
Oh my god, it’s Blaze, hey, dead homie, you’s a hound dog, bitch |
Allow me, smack your face riding on my dick |
How my nuts taste? |
Every place that I go |
Somebody want a photograph or an autograph |
Can I get a tap, how did y’all get started |
Your shit is really tight and what be motivatin' y’all |
To grab a pen and write, listen here |
Bitch, I’m a killer in disguise, Twiztid, motherfucker |
With the milk white eyes I despise |
While you try to perpetrate like a juggalo |
But you ain’t down, motherfucker, you’s a jugga-hoe |
Hey, hoe, you’re afraid of the facts |
Never packin' a gat and always seen with an axe |
Take another picture and I’ll break your jaw |
I got an 80 pound punch for each and all of y’all |
Motherfucker with that bitch ass hound dog face |
My ass cracks exposed, go ahead and get a taste |
Bow wow wow, yippy yo yippy yay |
Hound dogs ain’t got shit to say |
Bow wow wow, yippy yo yippy yay |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
Give a dog a bone, give a dog a bone |
It be the same hound dogs in different cities |
Starin' at me like I’m a set of titties |
Autographin' t-shirts, hats and socks |
And this bitch don’t even know riddle box |
Real juggalo’s don’t want no picture |
They just walk up like, «What up, ninja?» |
After that they give a fuck where I’m headin' |
Their like fuck him, we’re lookin' for neden |
And I don’t need any more free tattoos |
Got my arms lookin' like Motley Crues |
I could be talkin' to the finest bitch in the land |
And you’d run up like, «Hey, what up, man?» |
That’s when I slap you right on the spot |
And have Billy Bill beat ya down in the parkin' lot |
Do I think I’m better 'cuz neden comes easy? |
For sheezy bitch, bottom line, y’all get off our balls |
Psychopathic out like Biggy Smalls |