go see Boss Hogg. Then ya got Kooter fixin' over them cars...

 I don't need a glock cause I'm not a hard rock
 Got bitches on my jock  like New Kids On The Block
 I can't lose like Parker Lewis  I'm undefeated
 Step into my sector  homeboy  you'll get greeted
 By the 380 colt mustang in my pocket
 I had a few drinks already  don't make me cock it
 Cause if I have to cock it, well then it's gettin' shot
 And if it's gettin' shot, well, yo, you're gettin' bucked down
 I don't fuck around, I ain't got time for punks
 But I got time to smoke all the skunk philly blunts
 Stunts gather round, check out the sound
 And let's get down to do the nasty, freaky, funky
 Stinky, junky, let's bump uglies in the nighttime
 Between the sheets
 Cause I rock fly rhymes over funky beats
 The Celtic ruin, the legion of doom
 Now gimme the track, or with the fat back doom
 Now gimme some room, and I'll explode
 Cock back my hammer, then squeeze off my load
 So hit the road, Jack, and don't come back no more
 Or I'll be moppin' up the floor with your crew of soft core
 Punk pussy bitches, jail house snitches
 On stage, I get wrecked and I collect my riches
 I get the funky style, and like Gomer Pile
 You'll be 'Surprise surprise surprise!' as I
 Rise to the top, fuck a punk cop
 I'm always hip-hop, only a pimple goes pop
 So you better quit, zit
 I came to rip shit
 Blastin' with the Soul Assassins
 Askin' the question, teachin' the lesson
 Bringin' the West Coast back to the East Coast
 Where it all started, what're you, retarded
 You're startin' to trip from that Jheri curl drip
 Soakin' in your brain, the House Of Pain
 Is causin' pain, and feelin' pain
 So feel it

 Chorus
 Just feel it
 Feel it
 Just feel it
 C'mon y'all, feel it

 Back to the rhyme, I'm always on time
 A lime to a lemon, yo, a lemon to a lime
 I rock the old school style and it's futile
 To step up, cause you'll get swept up
 Like dust, or I just might bust and unload my clip
 Unless you're a punk, then I'll just pop you in the lip
 And show you the deal, now how did that feel
 You know I'm killin' any pig that squeels
 I'm fillin' up reels of tape with my fly rhymes
 And I've got a subsciption to High Times
 Son Dooby's in the back, the Mexican Ralph Emms is on the track
 My DJ Lethal, he's on the cut
 When I bust a dope rhyme, it's like bustin' a nut
 So let me jerk off on the mic and get it sticky
 When I drink a brew it's either Guiness or mickeys
 I'll put your head out just like a fuckin' Malboro
 Don't fuck with me, punk, you know that I'm thorough
 Bred like a race horse, right-in-your-face force
 Feedin' you beats, straight off the streets
 So catch me catch me, if you can
 You know I'm the man like Chewbacca knows Han
 Solo, bolos are what I'll be throwin'
 When I be flowin', I get the job done
 Cause I'm number one, the Prodigal Son
 I left and I came back, but not with the same rap
 And not with the same style, I'm known to get buckwild
 The luck of the Irish spreads like a virus
 So feel it

 Chorus