Lyrics:
Running a check up, boy you better step up
Said watch your step ‘cause I’m seeing you mess up
You keep on walkin’ right into a setup by running your mouth
Yeah yeah what yeah
Reminding me of Sef what?
Fat fat thick booty what?
You say jack that big booty yo
He say oh oh
I heard the boy he said
your block in the A-Team van
Hannibal Smith big cigars on hand
B.A. Baracus couple chains no scams
Your hustle game shakey fam
Your numbers outdated
When I awake I will take control and bring the thunder.
I'm like a boy in the barn. I'll fuck you by the horses.
I'm like the guy on the side who makes
Control and bring the thunder
I’m like a boy in the barn
I’ll fuck you by the horses
I’m like the guy on the side
Who makes girls get divorces
I’m like
Ayo
Just Don Roshes on, looking like Billy Hoy'
Islands made of marble in the kitchen
We was bagging boy
Destroy and rebuild, we ill
Still keep a toy
drown, they wanna feud doing them cruel, just call me handy I come with a tool drunk of the brandy could fill up a pool no number 3 but shoot like I'm
mangled. Oh yeah, I knew the percentages but the numbers were unaware of the grand finale's emphasis. And over the scent of a thousand dead dogs Agent Zip
"Bleach Boys"
By The Dead Milkmen
From Beelzebubba
(c) 1988
I've got some buddies and we all drink bleach
You know we practice what we preach
We're
a bulletproof apron, cookin the crank
In apartment letter see, building number three
Where ery'body and their grandma be
But everybody know me though,we folks
Boyz II Men to the End of the Road
Yo we boys to the end never been in the cold
You got me, I got you till our souls grow old
He shot you, he shot me,
pay now
Yo, I can't just be givin' out free game
Where you been?
Streets dried up, Scottsdale (Hot)
Pack came in, the box fell (Woo)
I was in
I dodge the bull shit matador
Diamond to a copper ore
More or less a catasoisseur
Connoisseur in pussy boy
Pull the mask
Reveal the lore
Minding
passing her by she like why I never reply
Cause you not on no freak shit
What you give me your number for if you ain't fucking
I'm swiping like let me
rage hell
Fill his box with h mail
Trash his name and bash him
All across the internets on every domain
Which Google traces back to his name
My disdain
Mic
Yo
Tales from a small room
Tales of a small yout
Painted and defined by the state of my school shoes
Dropped a bunch of Ps every couple weeks
Yeah, yeah, what, yeah
Reminding me of self, what?
Fat fat thick booty, what?
You say jack that big booty, yo
He say OOH OH
I heard the boy he
Get to Parchman Farm by number 9 bus
And send the children to the gum tree to wake up Nicodemus
So blow the man down boys.....
on the surface
We hopped out the tank
Boy we making em nervous
Niggas won't fuckin with us
From the jump
I still got plenty niggas
From the box
Boy you fuck with
at me I came up way from nun
Now look at me I made it somethin
Big box of musty (WHAT)
Flown cross the country
We get it in you can tell by how all of our
the rock
Like Foden takin' a cross, I got cane by the box
I need that big bread, no french baguette
Run up in your yard like Darg where the treasure chest
Cal. click, bang I'm gangsta walking with that trick aim
My nuts hang, like D-boys on the corner
And I could send a bitch nigga, a Bengal like Ty
Cal. click, bang I'm gangsta walking with that trick aim
My nuts hang, like D-boys on the corner
And I could send a bitch nigga, a Bengal like Ty
right by the pump
Cause when you shining like this it's a chance they can stunt
Next stop we hit the wedge we need some liquor to pour
So many cases
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