Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Scrubstitute Teachers, artist - Insane Clown Posse. Album song The Mighty Death Pop! Box Set, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.03.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Psychopathic
Song language: English
Scrubstitute Teachers |
I let one fly in the class I’m teachin' |
Shut the fuck up when the Duke is speakin' |
I don’t give detention on the weekend |
You give me shit, I’m handin' out beatin’s |
I ain’t afraid to get hands on with that ass |
Split your little fat-ass wig in class |
Don’t push me, kid. |
Take your fuckin' seat |
And less proceed. |
Who got the weed? |
What do you normally do with Mr. Duncan? |
(Science) Well he ain’t here, so fuck him |
You bitch, how old are them titties? |
Damn, too young. |
Egg foo young |
Now, you can shoot dice in the back, but |
Any money exchange, I needs my cut |
The rest of y’all, eyes to the front |
I show you how to juggle while rolling a blunt |
Listen up, class |
(School us on real shit) |
Now, listen up, class |
(We want it, that real) |
Listen up, class |
(School us on real shit) |
Now, listen up, class |
(We want it, hey. We want it, hey) |
It’s Willie. |
What to do? |
I’m your mother fuckin' substitute |
I got a headache and just wrecked my truck |
So shut yo' asses up |
Let me school you on some real shit |
J. Edgar Hoover used to suck dick |
Elvis Presley put coke up his nose |
And Martin Luther King had a couple o' hoes |
The school board, I can’t call it |
Half of 'em on drugs. |
The rest are alcoholics |
I don’t know why you study so hard |
Ain’t no fuckin' jobs |
I can What’s the problem, slick |
Before I sleep in the park, I’ma rob a bitch |
I got the guns and some bullets that are hooded, G |
I wish a mother fucker would try to bully me |
Listen up, class |
(School us on real shit) |
Now, listen up, class |
(We want it, that real) |
Listen up, class |
(School us on real shit) |
Now, listen up, class |
(We want it, hey. We want it, hey) |
I’ve written my name on the chalkboard: |
«The Southwest Strangla, Underground Lord» |
If you run your mouth or don’t do what you’re told |
Straight the fuck up, I’ll knock you out cold |
Leave you on the floor unconscious |
To remind anybody else who want shit |
Some of you hoes look good. |
I said it |
See me after class for extra credit |
in my Thermos mug |
Straight A’s for slackers and skippin' scrubs |
Today’s assignment: How to cook meth |
Cheerleader team comin' home with dick breath |
History is all lies. |
Fuck sports |
In your letterman coat, you’re nothin' but dorks |
Tell your mom it’s time for parent-teacher |
I’ll bend her over the teacher, like «Uh!» |
Listen up, class |
(School us on real shit) |
Now, listen up, class |
(We want it, that real) |
Listen up, class |
(School us on real shit) |
Now, listen up, class |
(We want it, hey. We want it, hey) |
What up, class? |
I’m your scrubstitute |
And I’m 'bout to teach you how to make that loot |
There’s 28 grams in an ounce o' weed |
And at a dime a piece, that’s 280 |
Just get your homie’s name, and it’s back on the streets |
I’m on work release, so I’m headed back to jail |
Got a way of corruptin' the misfits |
So I’m spreadin' out to many different school districts |
After the scrubstitute’s done takin' attendance |
Tell 'em put they hands on they desk and empty they pockets |
Lesson one: Anyone can get got |
Screw ya, how to flip a no and cut a key. |
Don’t get shot |
Pay attention to the teacher, and you practice your homework |
Tomorrow’s lesson is robbin' a bank and pimpin' a skirt |