| I can’t hear nuttin though
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| Alright, where you want me to start at?
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| Aiyyo you can kill the music then
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| Yo, check one two, check one two in the place to be
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| From the bottom to the T-O-P
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| That’s right, Flavor Flav, Public Enemy
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| From Bronx to L.A., we don’t fail
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| Kickin right here for 7th Veil
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| My man Kool Keith, H-Bomb, no jive
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| Yo, H-Bomb, hit 'em in the head son
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| No blazes, tennis shoes and denim
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| Pimp I got the gators, leathers I kill 'em
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| Your bullshit events, don’t play right
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| No tribute awards for Mr. Barry White
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| It’s Guantanamo Bay, industry’s gay
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| Hard to get rich, I don’t swing that way
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| That switch to funny make record in Kingston
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| Jesus is black, tell Mel Gibson
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| Who wears a skirt, Sting and Dave Navarro
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| My strap, my money, don’t lend, don’t borrow
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| The Sunset Strip is Gaza Strip
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| Your clothin line is shit, H is fuckin sick!
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| The rap game industry too quiet
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| Hehehehehe hah hah Atkins Diet
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| No backpackers pro-athlete actors
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| I rep for pimps, pushers, jackers
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| The P on the fitted I’m all for pimps
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| I throw ropes down for my niggas in the clink (yeahhhh boy!)
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| First and foremost, the industry don’t want it
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| Fuck it, I take what I want and flaunt it
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| I’m not vexed, they spend for sex
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| Who’s next after Michael, fuck Funkmaster Flex
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| Yeahhhh boyee, kickin it for 7th Veil
|
| That’s right, H-Bomb (fuck the industry, fuck it)
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| Kool Keith (fuck the industry nigga fuck it)
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| Hit 'em G
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| No game here, I shit on you ill son
|
| Fuck Hollywood’s best guest list
|
| Maximum dead-ass parties with flat-ass Paris Hilton
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| My shit shine bright with Von Dutch wipe
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| Jockin my gators, bitches with fake titties act like
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| They don’t suck dick, can you see me under the standard light
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| Fuck the red carpet, I’m in here with standard hype
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| You just at the crib on Sycamore
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| Your blonde cocker spaniel, my rings shine in your face
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| Youse a asswipe, you basketball player nut and scrotum jocker
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| You the givin ass type, with the Minnesota Timberwolves
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| Garnett’s clockin your ass pipe
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| Ugly monster-face bitch, you think you dressed tight
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| Evil bastard, you make your grandmother upset
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| Don’t flush the toilet motherfucker, you tryin to start a fight
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| Release the shit off my chest, get rid of the gripe
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| I shit inside your grey and white Nikes
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| Exercise your fat stomachs, no hamburgers at Chevies
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| You ride them fuckin bikes
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| Corny-ass 42 year old player’s club bitch
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| The funky face motherfuckin Wanda Sykes
|
| That baldheaded motherfucker just put a weave in, on UPN
|
| Whack-ass tattoos above your titties
|
| Your hard faced bitch, you’ll see me again
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| Like Faith Evans is the only one that sniffs
|
| All you cocaine motherfuckers in the hills
|
| Even Vivica Fox is a ugly bitch, chasin Curtis for his chips
|
| Engineer, just put me in that mix |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fright Night, artist - Kool Keith. Album song Dr. Octagon Pt. 2 / Bosses In the Booth, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп