(feat. D'Capo, Hawk, Mr. 3-2, Quest)



[talking:]

Thugs, bad ass broads

What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout

What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout

Alcoholics, drug addicts

What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout

What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout



[Hook: x2]

Nigga fool in the club, and they talking loud

Diarreah at the mouth, I'll knock it out

What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout

What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout



[H.A.W.K.:]

In the club tripping, gon have niggaz blood dripping

Slugs hitting, gon have niggaz flesh ripping

I ain't tripping, I'm issuing out ass whippings

And outside I'm on 4's, glass tipping

Just as sho', as I pop my collar

There'll be a hole in your head, big as a half a dollar

I'm hard to swallow, looking bout the size of Kamala

And I'm ready to attack, like two rottweilers

I'm bout that dollar, all the hoes waiting to holla

And when I leave out the club, all the hoes gon follow

Respect the name, also respect my game

The hands will swang, if you disrespect me mayn

The flow is insane, niggaz can't shield my reign

It's your boy Big H.A.W.K., coming through your bang

Stay in your lane, or else I'll inflict pain

I'll rearrange your frame, when you hear bang-bang



[Hook x2]



[Mr. 3-2:]

If ya step on my shoes, I'll slap ya face

Tear up this place, prolly catch a case

Off alcohol, my blood be pumping

You bitch ass niggaz, ain't talking bout nothing

Say some'ing wrong, we gon have to squabble

Fuck your face off, with a champagne bottle

My motto, get this over with fast

Before words pass, I'm all on your ass

Security guards, and rent-a-cops better chill

In the parking lot, a nigga might get killed

For real, I ain't playing with bitch boys

My niggaz, always pack plastic toys

DJ, better turn the music off

I was trying to mack a bitch, y'all done pissed me off

Big Boss, Mr. 3-2 get crunk

Me and H.A.W.K., going hard on these chumps



[Hook x2]



[D-Capo:]

I pull up to the club, head breeze and two prone

From drink I'm gone, broads on ding-dong

I play like King Kong, I'll get em up off me

Game so smooth, they thinking that I'm salty

But I'm frosty playa, froze up like Alaska

Boys get to tripping, it's gon be a disaster

Faster, than diarreah mouths can blink

I slide em quick like lightening, then buzz em with a drink



[Quest:]

When I'm in the club, and these niggaz starting to talk too much

Buster niggaz better chill, 'fore I spark you up

The medics and them folks, gon have to chalk you up

That's the end nigga you caught with some'ing, nigga you off and drunk

In my ear, and you need to step back

Cause the tools that I pack, are known to stretch fat

Hot slugs, run through that ass like X-Lax

Then I'm make they neck crack, you best respect that



[Hook x2]