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scratched) |
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"Lick my sweaty balls." |
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[Verse 1: J-Zone] |
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You better lock up the Bacardi at your party when the Zone roll through |
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In a fur coat that look like I killed the whole Bronx Zoo |
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ASPCA is outside my house, picketin' |
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'Cause everything in my coat been previously livin' |
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Hoes ask why I cut my braids off (Trippin') |
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So I could look prep and pull Kate Moss bitches |
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But I don't make babies (No)...I make beats |
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And got more juice than a hair salon in Compton in the late 80's |
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[Verse 2: Celph Titled] |
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Back on the muthafuckin' set, Zone pass me the glock |
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So I can blast and leave a hole the size of Flava Flav's clock |
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But either niggas hate or they jock, you pay 'till you're broke |
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We from the hood, where we beat our kids with cables and ropes |
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Load them hammers in the car before I bust back |
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Crash a bike in your face, and leave you with a handlebar mustache |
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Celph Titled fell off? What made you think that? |
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I came here to downsize the game: no CD's, just "shrink wrap" |
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[Verse 3: J-Zone] |
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I used to bang groupies like your sister, but I quit it for sure |
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"These girls are simply for the money" "And your sister's a whore!" |
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Nowadays I diss hoes, wantin' Zone to get Olympic |
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And strip clothes and broad jump with ten inches of limp dick |
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But what about Zone and your mama? |
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He threw his balls between her legs like he was playin' for the Globetrotters |
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Thinkin' you rock? Y'all gets nothin' |
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'Cause I talk trash, you collect it like Charles S. Dutton, muthafucka! |
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[Chorus: Celph Titled & J-Zone] |
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Rude! Crude! Spoiled! Rotten! |
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J-Zone and Celph Titled ain't nothin' but problems |
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Throw eggs at your favorite MC |
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Locate your face and then pee |
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So if you don't like us, you can hum these nuts |
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We put foes in they place and then leave |
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(scratched) |
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"Rude...arrogant...entirely offensive" |
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"Look out America, here we come!" |
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[Verse 4: Celph Titled] |
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I don't care what Biggie said, I still dream of fuckin' Xscape |
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That big girl could find out, just how my third leg tastes |
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I like my pockets fat, and my bitches fatter |
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Up until I was ten, I thought my name was just "Little Bastard" (You little bastard!) |
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Niggas rap to pay they bills, but never got cash |
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Catch you at the bar, I'm puttin' bullets through your shot glass |
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Knock your muthafuckin' Pro Tools off sequence |
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Y'all niggas is like Dr. Dre in '83: all sequins |
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[Verse 5: J-Zone] |
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(Hey J, when's your video gonna be on TV?) |
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When the surveillance tape from KFC gets sent to BET |
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(J, I need my nails done) What? "Dumb broad" |
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You'd have better luck at the White House, lookin' for a job |
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With a Jheri curl and shower cap on |
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Doin' a kid and play Kick Step with a crackhead on the front lawn |
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In a "All Hail Saddam" T-shirt, holdin' two Glocks |
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And C-Bo's Greatest Hits pumpin' from your boombox |
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"Let's go...bump it, I know you hear me comin'" |
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[Verse 6: Celph Titled] |
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It's time to oil up my jaw bone, and get ready for slick talk |
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O.G. swagger, that's the way this here spic walk |
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About to unleash a sleek metal hatchet (Why?) |
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'Cause y'all sound faker than Alicia Keys' ghetto accent (Oh) |
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Get snapped in fragments and fed to lab rabbits |
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All I got is my balls, guns, and bad habits |
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Keep you paranoid, become a crabby sleeper |
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'Cause I got you sniffin' more "'caine" than Big Daddy's retriever |
