(feat. Flavor Flav, H-Bomb)



[Flavor Flav]

I can't hear nuttin though

Alright, where you want me to start at?

Aiyyo you can kill the music then

Yo, check one two, check one two in the place to be

From the bottom to the T-O-P

That's right, Flavor Flav, Public Enemy

From Bronx to L.A., we don't fail

Kickin right here for 7th Veil

My man Kool Keith, H-Bomb, no jive

Yo, H-Bomb, hit 'em in the head son



[H-Bomb]

No blazes, tennis shoes and denim

Pimp I got the gators, leathers I kill 'em

Your bullshit events, don't play right

No tribute awards for Mr. Barry White

It's Guantanamo Bay, industry's gay

Hard to get rich, I don't swing that way

That switch to funny make record in Kingston

Jesus is black, tell Mel Gibson

Who wears a skirt, Sting and Dave Navarro

My strap, my money, don't lend, don't borrow

The Sunset Strip is Gaza Strip

Your clothin line is shit, H is fuckin sick!

The rap game industry too quiet

Hehehehehe hah hah Atkins Diet

No backpackers pro-athlete actors

I rep for pimps, pushers, jackers

The P on the fitted I'm all for pimps

I throw ropes down for my niggaz in the clink (yeahhhh boy!)

First and foremost, the industry don't want it

Fuck it, I take what I want and flaunt it

I'm not vexed, they spend for sex

Who's next after Michael, fuck Funkmaster Flex



[Flavor Flav]

Yeahhhh boyee, kickin it for 7th Veil

That's right, H-Bomb (fuck the industry, fuck it)

Kool Keith (fuck the industry nigga fuck it)

Hit 'em G



[Kool Keith]

No game here, I shit on you ill son

Fuck Hollywood's best guest list

Maximum dead-ass parties with flat-ass Paris Hilton

My shit shine bright with Von Dutch wipe

Jockin my gators, bitches with fake titties act like

they don't suck dick, can you see me under the standard light

Fuck the red carpet, I'm in here with standard hype

You just at the crib on Sycamore

Your blonde cocker spaniel, my rings shine in your face

Youse a asswipe, you basketball player nut and scrotum jocker

You the givin ass type, with the Minnesota Timberwolves

Garnett's clockin your ass pipe

Ugly monster-face bitch, you think you dressed tight

Evil bastard, you make your grandmother upset

Don't flush the toilet motherfucker, you tryin to start a fight

Release the shit off my chest, get rid of the gripe

I shit inside your grey and white Nikes

Exercise your fat stomachs, no hamburgers at Chevies

You ride them fuckin bikes

Corny-ass 42 year old player's club bitch

The funky face motherfuckin Wanda Sykes

That baldheaded motherfucker just put a weave in, on UPN

Whack-ass tattoos above your titties

Your hard faced bitch, you'll see me again

Like Faith Evans is the only one that sniffs

All you cocaine motherfuckers in the hills

Even Vivica Fox is a ugly bitch, chasin Curtis for his chips

Engineer, just put me in that mix