[Intro:]

You want lessons?

It's to get with it, we out nigga

Come on!



[Shyheim]

I came into the party with my fly Wu-Wear shit on

Two hundred in, my teeth flex, gotta throw my hit on

Movin through the crowd with my shines hangin out

Hit the bar, for a Henney straight, no chaser

Guzzle it down, honies crowdin around the Killa Bee

Buy you a drink, you kidding? Love, you got to be

Since you on my dick, won't you buy me a drink?

Chewin my ear off, tellin me that she met me in the rink

I don't get tricky, got too much G

Got a degree in P.I.M.P-alogy, acknowledge me

Not a playa, teach these niggas how to be, I'm [?]Wallabeeneny[?]

Thugs throw it up, everytime they see me

I hollow back, "Where the bats at?"

Baseball fitted hat, 7-1-8ths, New York Yanks'

She was Miss Elliot Trace, from her shoes to her face

with a body just like a Ferrari shape

She asks me, "How you get that cut on your face"?

That's when the DJ shouted out, "Shyheim's in the place"

I was high off the notion and case

It must have been her birthday cuz she was holdin mad cake

Her man holdin no weight

He low-budget, she told me we was fluckin

We with two of her friends and three of her cousins

We in the corner whinin, my whole team's shinin

It's time to go when these fake rappers start rhymin

For real son



[Chorus:]

You know the club scene, 7-40, I beam

You know the club scene, big icy links and minks

You know the club scene, fuck around and get shot

You know the club scene, niggas spend all they got

You know the club scene, shorty, she lookin hot

You know the club scene, niggas be on Bra'

You know the club scene, you better tuck your watch

You know the club scene, we flossin in the parkin lot



[Shyheim]

There's a party goin on, down the blizz-ock

In this little hot box, but you might get shot

Cuz there's a lot of Knuckleheadz, who'll be playin this club

A hole in the wall, I got my gun in, ain't searchin at all

I watch you hand-to-hand niggas, that be tryin to ball

With your little ghetto-fame, Tech to snatch your chain

They used to call him Killa, now Got-Murdered his name

I smack Earth, Wind & Fire out lames

Take money, thuggin ain't a thing

I got my drink in my right hand, left hand in my pants

I don't dance, just be loungin in my B-boy stance

Respect my gangsta, move like an army at war

Spit some Willy in the air, and we slid out the door

About a quarter to 4:00, jumped in the 4x4, smooth like velour

Say no more, every party I go to, I bring a bird home

Call me Cabosa Indiana Jones



[Chorus]



[Shyheim]

I had this show O.T., at this venue called Ritz

I was rockin the mic, when I noticed this bitch

She was lickin her lips and her rubbin her tits

I can tell that she stripped, I had to politic

But she was with this achin bitch, Alienation bitch

Throwin peanuts in my Jif, makin me sick

Etcera, etcera, I'm liable to get rid of her

I don't give a fuck

Took her in the bathroom, picked her up in the tub

I'm like a drug, I be stalkin the club

Ladies beware, eighteen and above, what?

I'm a heart-breaker, the mind-raper

That don't spend no paper and don't like bitches that wear makeup