Where da weed at, bitch?!
I speed back wist, down to one-way from cops
See thas' shit?! Believe thas' shit!
Slaughter straight to camcorder, I'm too hot for t.v.
Backdraw water, my windpipes attached to
Project-ballers
You yell: "Turn the heat down!"
My voice, D.V.D. round-sound, some herb round town
And chances of ya'll leavin', round now
Wait later, will make Funk page paper
Date Raper wit' Juvenile 8th Graders
Hit the High School at 187 Caesar
When I bust ya'll need to back 4 acres
Doc ya'll and that's my man Jabberjaw
The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off?
I'm from the underground, my soundlib
Platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds!
GET UP, STAND UP, BACK UP, PUSH 'EM
JUMP UP, ACT UP TO MAKE YOU FEEL IT!
Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM
Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM
Yo' BLACKOUT, SHOOT OUT, SMOKED OUT
MOVE OUT, EVEN KNOCK THE TOOTH OUT, TO MAKE YA'LL FEEL
IT!
Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM
Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM
Now I'm the streettalkin', dogwalkin'
Approach me with extreme caution, OH NOW YOU FORCIN'?
My hand that rock yo' cradle often
I'm hot-scorchin', but stone cold like Steve Austin
If you smell what Tical cookin', ain't try to see
central bookin'
So til ya gon' stop lookin', now what you did last
summer?
So I started hookin', you past shookin'
Over open can I ass-whoopin'?
Ain't no tomorrows in the Method's Little Shop Of
Horrors
Go ask your father who the father from the Hill to
Harbor
You know tha saga, marijuana bustin' Goldschlaager
With deadly medley, ya'll ain't ready for Shakwon and
