Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Strike A Nerve, artist - Naughty By Nature.
Date of issue: 02.09.1991
Song language: English
Strike A Nerve |
Yo, Treach, it was some bitch in a seminar |
Talkin bout you had to get up early to wax this |
(Strike a nerve) |
Them other motherfuckers said you couldn’t even wax that dirty bitch |
So wassup y’all? |
(Strike a nerve) |
I get my daily dose of cha-cha-cha and «Shut the fuck up, ho» |
Shit, shaved, and bathed e’ryday then I must go |
Ugh, this is Everyday All Day, let’s all say |
Pluckin enough and roughin em up and fuckin em up always |
Bet, let’s talk about a back flash, ya jackass |
That fast you flash witta match, your fast rap |
And even though you didn’t know me before the flow solo |
It’s no slow way to go, bolos I throw or sold |
Let’s pick a bitch to pick with, peekaboo |
I see you thru your crew, now whatchu wanna do? |
After that, caps off to the black frost |
My pants always sag cos I rap my ass off (Oooooh) |
You wanna talk about a badboy *?sanchoi?* |
I’m bad as they come, chum, straight up ricochet rap style |
To Vin Rock and KayGee, I’m the baby |
Droppin the ladies, cravin ya maybe, I have the right to be lazy |
Got more stretch to my swing and the stretch of a chicken wing |
The flavor is bacon and its cravin is icecream |
I’m too trucked to be fucked and too live, otherwise |
Ya drive by’s smuffler, word to the mother, my brother eyed |
Runnin and comin, drama starin wit a stellar |
I need so many lumps, I’ll use your head as a braille book |
Many friends ships ink, quick, fast |
It’ll take a dollar worth of gas to outlast your little tired ass |
You tried to swing this way, you little swifty |
(Ha ha ha, slum bitches still miss me) |
I do the dumpin, humpin, clappin like thunder |
And that’s comin from a land down under |
Yo, I’m sick of dis shit, man |
Niggas tryin to cut V-Rock's nuts! |
(Strike a nerve) |
Yo, they tryin to make us drop Vin Rock, sayin he don’t rock enough |
Yo kick that shit |
Prepare for the worst, cos I ain’t livin loss |
I wouldn’t just give a fuck, cos givin is free and my fuck’s cost |
I never get lost in The Source, cos I know my way |
I been there before, maybe 5−6 times a day |
Sometimes I put my hands on my head when I’m done, from |
And wondered to myself where did dat def shit come from? |
And then I think about the Naughty and the Nature in it |
And then the Flavor then the figures while I’m flowin wit it |
So I won’t give up, stop, stall, quit, ya kitten |
You can’t touch this, fuck what them throats written |
I got tracks, better known as snaps, far forbidden |
And the warm do, I know, I know how to make ya feel it |
I’ll take a head, I’ll make ya spread and now lay back |
I tell you once, I tell you twice, Vinnie don’t play that (You don’t?) |
So don’t start, there will be none is the lesson, folks |
I hate cigarettes but my Smith & Wessun smokes |
]From anywhere, from any corner, anytime that’s right |
Who you bashin? |
I go blast in broad daylight |
You stand hard, you look hard, yeah, your figure’s soft |
I got nuff props from buckshots that niggas caught |
Ya say you can’t go to the takin me out close |
Huh, in that case, you shoulda named your album «Almost» |
I wouldn’t rely on the try if I was you, yo |
Cos I’m turnin tries into «oh oh’s» and «hell no’s» |
I wouldn’t be caught dead witchu up in tryin it |
And if I was goin, I get my stiff ass up and rip shit |
I can’t go out like a wooden sock with padlocks |
I’ll leave tacks tiny and slimy like snot spots |
I write a day, to me, it’s a common caper |
Say so much shit, huh, I write my rhymes on toilet paper |
Yeah, Vin Rock, backbone of Naughty By Nature, y’knowI’msayin? |
(Strike a nerve) |
That’s right, so everybody sleepin on the up, stay off of my dick |
(Strike a nerve) |
We’re gonna stomp this time around, word up |
(Strike a nerve) |
Look who’s mother’s in the studio, thirty sons and daughters |
Mrs. Happy Thing is in the back catchin quarters |
Come and try to run wit it, never in a lifetime |
Thirty ??? |
could act at Caesar’s, still I bet I get mine |
I heard your girl’s havin a baby, now will what she have? |
A bag of dope, a bottle, or crack, or a sess bag |
There ain’t a part of me with 'sorry' written on it, slick |
You couldn’t rock a crooked cradle, you fuckin prick |
The way I rock could shit, you just often like it |
My style’s so fat I had to throw it on a water diet |
Bullshit ya not, I ain’t the type to be fuckin with |
Wreckin with, and if I mic attest it, I’ll be neckin it |
Onslaught at an encore, you stinkin rat |
You’re so dumb you tried to buy a fuckin thinkin cap |
Now that tells us in a sec right where your head is at |
In between some bitch’s legs, lookin ass and lap |
My name is Treach, remember this and don’t you ever 'fess |
That’s a shame, I get two minutes just to say «Next!» |
Fuck who follows you, you and them could help each other |
I treat you both like any other motherfuckin runner |
This is the Flavor, tasty although sugar-free |
So have a Coke, have a smile and have a booger, G |
(Why?) Cos you don’t mean shit to me |
I’mma take you ??? |
where good shit’s meant to be |
I rock a rhyme that’ll be a straight up def track |
Droppin more shit than White Castles and Ex-Lax |
A studio to me is just a chance to rock, G |
I rock and rock, god damn, call me VinRocky (ha ha) |
It’s just what the fuck I’m talkin bout |
I say one thing and your whole crew’s walkin out |
So do the lyric here, this is one lyric less |
If I were you, I’d take and throw em on his fuckin neck |
Something that flow should come straight from the horse’s mouth |
Mr. Ed’s dead so his ass is the best way out |
Shit man for hire, this hitman is the law |
I run more tracks than a San Francisco trolley car |
Prepare for the win-te, oh yeah |
I could write your fuckin album and you’ll soon be the last one there |
I start to heat up and rip shit in one, see |
You couldn’t get it hard if the eyes were on Broad Street |
So don’t you ever never tell me I’m not good enough |
I got more stuff than a teddy bear, from ass to gut |
This is a solid you could never outlast |
If bullshit was worth a dime, you’d have a job in a cow’s ass |