| Yo, Treach, it was some bitch in a seminar
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| Talkin bout you had to get up early to wax this
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| (Strike a nerve)
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| Them other motherfuckers said you couldn’t even wax that dirty bitch
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| So wassup y’all?
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| (Strike a nerve)
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| I get my daily dose of cha-cha-cha and «Shut the fuck up, ho»
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| Shit, shaved, and bathed e’ryday then I must go
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| Ugh, this is Everyday All Day, let’s all say
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| Pluckin enough and roughin em up and fuckin em up always
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| Bet, let’s talk about a back flash, ya jackass
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| That fast you flash witta match, your fast rap
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| And even though you didn’t know me before the flow solo
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| It’s no slow way to go, bolos I throw or sold
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| Let’s pick a bitch to pick with, peekaboo
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| I see you thru your crew, now whatchu wanna do?
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| After that, caps off to the black frost
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| My pants always sag cos I rap my ass off (Oooooh)
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| You wanna talk about a badboy *?sanchoi?*
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| I’m bad as they come, chum, straight up ricochet rap style
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| To Vin Rock and KayGee, I’m the baby
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| Droppin the ladies, cravin ya maybe, I have the right to be lazy
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| Got more stretch to my swing and the stretch of a chicken wing
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| The flavor is bacon and its cravin is icecream
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| I’m too trucked to be fucked and too live, otherwise
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| Ya drive by’s smuffler, word to the mother, my brother eyed
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| Runnin and comin, drama starin wit a stellar
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| I need so many lumps, I’ll use your head as a braille book
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| Many friends ships ink, quick, fast
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| It’ll take a dollar worth of gas to outlast your little tired ass
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| You tried to swing this way, you little swifty
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| (Ha ha ha, slum bitches still miss me)
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| I do the dumpin, humpin, clappin like thunder
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| And that’s comin from a land down under
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| Yo, I’m sick of dis shit, man
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| Niggas tryin to cut V-Rock's nuts! |
| (Strike a nerve)
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| Yo, they tryin to make us drop Vin Rock, sayin he don’t rock enough
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| Yo kick that shit
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| Prepare for the worst, cos I ain’t livin loss
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| I wouldn’t just give a fuck, cos givin is free and my fuck’s cost
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| I never get lost in The Source, cos I know my way
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| I been there before, maybe 5−6 times a day
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| Sometimes I put my hands on my head when I’m done, from
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| And wondered to myself where did dat def shit come from?
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| And then I think about the Naughty and the Nature in it
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| And then the Flavor then the figures while I’m flowin wit it
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| So I won’t give up, stop, stall, quit, ya kitten
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| You can’t touch this, fuck what them throats written
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| I got tracks, better known as snaps, far forbidden
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| And the warm do, I know, I know how to make ya feel it
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| I’ll take a head, I’ll make ya spread and now lay back
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| I tell you once, I tell you twice, Vinnie don’t play that (You don’t?)
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| So don’t start, there will be none is the lesson, folks
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| I hate cigarettes but my Smith & Wessun smokes
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| ]From anywhere, from any corner, anytime that’s right
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| Who you bashin? |
| I go blast in broad daylight
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| You stand hard, you look hard, yeah, your figure’s soft
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| I got nuff props from buckshots that niggas caught
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| Ya say you can’t go to the takin me out close
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| Huh, in that case, you shoulda named your album «Almost»
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| I wouldn’t rely on the try if I was you, yo
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| Cos I’m turnin tries into «oh oh’s» and «hell no’s»
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| I wouldn’t be caught dead witchu up in tryin it
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| And if I was goin, I get my stiff ass up and rip shit
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| I can’t go out like a wooden sock with padlocks
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| I’ll leave tacks tiny and slimy like snot spots
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| I write a day, to me, it’s a common caper
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| Say so much shit, huh, I write my rhymes on toilet paper
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| Yeah, Vin Rock, backbone of Naughty By Nature, y’knowI’msayin?
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| (Strike a nerve)
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| That’s right, so everybody sleepin on the up, stay off of my dick
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| (Strike a nerve)
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| We’re gonna stomp this time around, word up
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| (Strike a nerve)
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| Look who’s mother’s in the studio, thirty sons and daughters
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| Mrs. Happy Thing is in the back catchin quarters
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| Come and try to run wit it, never in a lifetime
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| Thirty ??? |
| could act at Caesar’s, still I bet I get mine
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| I heard your girl’s havin a baby, now will what she have?
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| A bag of dope, a bottle, or crack, or a sess bag
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| There ain’t a part of me with 'sorry' written on it, slick
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| You couldn’t rock a crooked cradle, you fuckin prick |
| The way I rock could shit, you just often like it
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| My style’s so fat I had to throw it on a water diet
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| Bullshit ya not, I ain’t the type to be fuckin with
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| Wreckin with, and if I mic attest it, I’ll be neckin it
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| Onslaught at an encore, you stinkin rat
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| You’re so dumb you tried to buy a fuckin thinkin cap
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| Now that tells us in a sec right where your head is at
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| In between some bitch’s legs, lookin ass and lap
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| My name is Treach, remember this and don’t you ever 'fess
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| That’s a shame, I get two minutes just to say «Next!»
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| Fuck who follows you, you and them could help each other
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| I treat you both like any other motherfuckin runner
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| This is the Flavor, tasty although sugar-free
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| So have a Coke, have a smile and have a booger, G
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| (Why?) Cos you don’t mean shit to me
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| I’mma take you ??? |
| where good shit’s meant to be
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| I rock a rhyme that’ll be a straight up def track
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| Droppin more shit than White Castles and Ex-Lax
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| A studio to me is just a chance to rock, G
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| I rock and rock, god damn, call me VinRocky (ha ha)
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| It’s just what the fuck I’m talkin bout
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| I say one thing and your whole crew’s walkin out
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| So do the lyric here, this is one lyric less
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| If I were you, I’d take and throw em on his fuckin neck
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| Something that flow should come straight from the horse’s mouth
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| Mr. Ed’s dead so his ass is the best way out
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| Shit man for hire, this hitman is the law
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| I run more tracks than a San Francisco trolley car
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| Prepare for the win-te, oh yeah
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| I could write your fuckin album and you’ll soon be the last one there
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| I start to heat up and rip shit in one, see
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| You couldn’t get it hard if the eyes were on Broad Street
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| So don’t you ever never tell me I’m not good enough
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| I got more stuff than a teddy bear, from ass to gut
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| This is a solid you could never outlast
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| If bullshit was worth a dime, you’d have a job in a cow’s ass |