| This is WKYA, We Kickin Yo' Ass radio
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| All you motherfuckers out there that wanna get down with the pound
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| Put your motherfuckin pounds up, and start bustin the motherfuckers
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| Am I too loud for this motherfucker? |
| Turn me down a little bit
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| Yeah yeah yeah
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| Yo, first of all I’m a grown-ass man, pay my own bills
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| Stated own real, haters gon' feel
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| Direct Syndrome, mouth with cold tongue
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| You bounty hunters be on the chase for Joe Young
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| I won’t slip, keep pink slips to my car
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| I’m raw like sushi bars on bougie broads
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| I retrieve the money, dawg labrador
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| Ray Charles can see it, and Stacy Lattisaw
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| You get mashed out, cause your bird is peckin
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| Don’t be the next vinyl cut to _Urban Legend_
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| I can feel where you at, when I pound you up
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| You out of town coke rhymes, oh you clowns is up
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| My crew stay in the truck, can’t fit in the Porsche
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| If you bitches ain’t happy, then get a divorce
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| I’mma do what I want, cause my time is now
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| Grab the whole rap game, and divide it down
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| If I wanna roll a Jeep with a seat out the back
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| Bitch feet out the back, system beat out the track
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| Am I wrong for dat? |
| (If that’s what you like)
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| Dawg, am I wrong for dat? |
| (Hey, I guess not)
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| Yo yo, if I walk into the club with my hand on my snub
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| Beatin down security cause I don’t give a fuck
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| Am I wrong for dat? |
| (Mmm mmm)
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| Dawg, am I wrong for dat? |
| (Say WHAAAAT?!)
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| Yo Keith, yo yo Keith
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| I copped the whole box, went half with Reginald
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| Hollow tips infrareds and (?) clips came free
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| And you ain’t gotta believe me, fuck bein nervous
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| Far as I’m concerned they’re at your funeral service
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| What do we have here? |
| Snitch in despair, shoot off his ear
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| Have his whole body shakin in fear
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| Stormtrooper fires throwin lashin out flames
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| A few ashes, when they analyze your remains
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| I live in the streets, reside with the toolie
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| I kill you like it’s part of my religious duty
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| Street sweeper thug keeper sweepin thugs under the rug
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| Even females who think they thugs
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| Trigger the release of adrenaline
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| When I’m gangsta-trippin like the Bloods’n’Crips’n’them
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| Unleash the matter of energy, killin 'em
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| Why’d you do it? |
| Because I wasn’t feelin them!
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| If I ride through the hood, smokin a ounce of haze (uh-huh)
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| With a shabby haircut, pants I wore for days
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| Am I wrong for dat? |
| (I don’t think so)
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| C’mon bitch, am I wrong for dat? |
| (Say WHAAAAT?!)
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| Yo, if I want a fat chick that keep her toes done (uh-huh)
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| When they playin my song ass spill out the thong
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| Am I wrong for dat? |
| (Got that big ass)
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| Am I wrong for dat? |
| (Tchk, nooo)
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| I gotta, bang the boogie to that bang bang pussy
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| To that bang to the pussy the beat, beat
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| And if yo', bitch ain’t sippin that Cristal shit
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| Then she might be leavin with D, D
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| I got a hairy-ass chest, like Austin Powers
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| That bitch that «Stan» drowned, I fucked around with her
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| Act like a man, stand on your own two
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| Doc takin it all, fuck who it belong to |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Wrong 4 Dat , by - Redman. Song from the album Malpractice, in the genre R&B