Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Made You Shit Your Pants, artist - The Weathermen. Date of issue: 04.08.2003
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Made You Shit Your Pants |
| You can go fuck yourself if you don’t feel it |
| All it took is liquor, marijuana, six strippers in a sauna |
| Pen and pad, now I got buzz quicker than Nirvana |
| First, you non-violent, now you in your verse wildin'? |
| Your only criminal record is BDP’s first album |
| Cop purple haze and be the first to blaze |
| When cops roll up everybody in my circle stays |
| Fuck your baby mama on Mother’s Day |
| Dump my blunt ashes in that bitch’s purse |
| When she turn her head the other way |
| I’m foul, and don’t give a shit what a motherfucka say |
| Live it up till each minutes up we might not get another day |
| In a truck, tinted up, yeah It’s rented but |
| This chick won’t know that, till after she licks my bozack!!! |
| Get my Prozac, I’m like Tony Soprano |
| The way I kill Big Pussy and my bitch don’t know that |
| They shootin'! |
| Aww, made you shit your pants |
| Better call your bitch, forget your mans |
| Stickin' his honey, playboy she mine now |
| Where my Weathermen at? |
| Follow the dime cloud |
| They shootin'! |
| Aww, made you shit your pants |
| Better call your bitch, forget your mans |
| Stickin' his honey, playboy she mine now |
| Where my Weathermen at? |
| Follow the dime cloud |
| First name Yakko, what you know about Yak though? |
| Weathermen, prime specimen with my pants low |
| See this is where the barkin' stops |
| And my dogs need to show, walkin' my shit to the parkin' lot |
| Whoa, they shootin' aww, we made it hot, fuck it |
| But we encouragin' sprayin' the cops |
| Trust me dog you don’t want no bad blood between us |
| I’m movin' up you still play the back of the club |
| I’m ballin, you pourin' you starvin' like orphans, you punks |
| We warrin', you fallin' and sleepin' in coffins, you front |
| I change your fate ain’t nuthin' changed that my claim |
| Hittin' stars like it ain’t a thang |
| We ghetto entrepreneurs, rap connoisseurs |
| Who like our weed with crystals in it and our women on all fours |
| So let the truth be told, haters can hate me now |
| But save the drama for a movie role |
| Police shootin'! |
| Aww we made it hot |
| They got the bomb squad, and raidin' with SWAT |
| Don’t make a motherfucka break your locks, playa |
| Right where the robbery’s at; |
| scene of the crime’s at |
| They shootin'! |
| Aww we made it hot |
| They got the bomb squad, and raidin' with SWAT |
| Don’t make a motherfucka break your locks, playa |
| Right where the robbery’s at; |
| scene of the crime’s at |
| P. S.K. |
| playin' I’m saying neurotic shit |
| Y’all look to the clouds, asked for the Weather and got it |
| Whether I’m potted or blotted out of this orbit, absorb shit |
| Cause only five percent don’t really want to be corporate! |
| Most of y’all favorite artists made y’all slaves to garbage |
| The influence’ll drop, they rape the carcass |
| Then it’s off to the livin' for cannibalism, no kidding |
| Cause rap is dying and they ain’t make no ribbon |
| I’m thinkin' of the stress, and the air I breathe through |
| Drugs don’t fund terrorists, SUV’s do! |
| But y’all don’t want me to point it out I’m assuming |
| Just remember to turn on and tune out, after you tune in! |