What, what, what, what, what, what the fuck! What, what, what, what, what, what the fuck! What, what, what, what, what, what the fuck! What, what, what
in that long hearse I think I'm Malcolm X, Huey Newton Marcus Garvey, I'm surrounded by my army damn Damn, nigga try and harm me Fuck what a hater think
(feat. Spice 1) [Spice 1:] We don't fuck around, we hit a nigga up with them desert eagles 187 hero Z-Ro, and Fetty Chico Blooow, I'm a jedi in these
(feat. Pimp C, Spice 1 & Vicious) [Pimp C:] Uh, the damn place made me crazy I don't care about nothing but my daddy my granny, my bitch and my babies
your girl if I know flesh was lusted Nigga now who was to blame for the pain cause fucking with me nigga you get sprayed Hardheaded that's like fucking
up in the set, who did I see? A fuck-nigga from Atlanta named after me! (What??) I put that red dot up against his head And said "Fuck-ass nigga, I should
dash and never learn to read So fuck a bitch fuck a hoe and I let ya know Because they come and go like the wind blows What am I giving how I'm living
go on The faster the nigga can get his dough on Then I can hit my flow and get my ho on Them niggas don't know what goes on They trying to fuck with all
it, keep it gutter, that's how we get down I wanna see you get it crunk, let a nigga know what hood you from Eveybody wit me drunk as fuck, break it
time to add another dead body to the doorway So I turned down my spice one tape and hit the switch Emptied the whole clip in his fuckin face [Chorus:] [
1] You know who you fucking with? W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-wicked clowns [x2] [Chorus 2] Wicked clowns [x4] Don't fuck with me Wicked clowns [x8] Don't fuck with
That I Lay Will Turn This Fucking Boof Into Pompai Now What Will I Do In Broad Day Turn Broadway Into A Hallway Motherfuckers Wanna Know The Hurbs and Spices
the finest clothes And your grill is shining As you're driving down the street of gold But you can't blame me if I set dis stage on fire [Verse 1:] Mama
lost, dog paddling, back stroking, what done happened? be rhymin' catching the day when the recipe calls for black and wrong ingredients, maybe too much herbs and spices
punks would say I just lucked up keep Talkin' that shit might get you fucked up, you some Jimmy Rucker Tommy Tucker type of mutha fuckas glamorized you Specialize in getting' butt fucked
teacha [Spice:] And ah spice [Kartel:] Every man grab a gyal [Spice:] And every gyal grab a man [Kartel:] Man to man, gyal to gyal dats wrong [Spice:]
