Tonart: Bb minor
Verse 1
C#
D
Dm
Am
Meanwhile, back
at the ranch,
Dm
Am
we got Bo, Duke and Daisy goin' to
Go see Boss Hogg. Then ya got Kooter
Dm
Am
fixin' over them cars...
Dm
Am
I don't need a glock cause
I'm not a hard rock
Got bitches on my jock,
Dm
Am
like New Kids On The Block
I can't lose like Parker Lewis,
D
Am
I'm undefeated
Step into my sector,
Dm
Am
homeboy, you'll get greeted
D
Am
By the 380 colt mustang in my pocket
Dm
I had a few drinks already,
Am
don't make me cock it
Cause if I have to cock it,
Dm
Am
well then it's gettin' shot
Dm
Am
Dm
And if it's gettin' shot, well, yo,
Am
you're gettin' bucked down
I don't fuck around,
I ain't got time for punks
But I got time to smoke all
Dm
Am
the skunk philly blunts
Dm
Stunts gather round,
Dm
Am
And let's get down to do the nasty,
Am
Dm
Stinky, junky, let's bump uglies
Am
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
Dm
your crew of soft core
Am
Punk pussy bitches, jail house snitches
On stage, I get wrecked and
I collect my riches
Dm
Am
I get the funky style,
and like Gomer Pile
You'll be 'Surprise
surprise surprise!' as I
Dm
Am
Rise to the top, fuck a punk cop
I'm always hip- hop,
Dm
only a pimple goes pop
Am
So you better quit, zit
Dm
Am
I came to rip shit
Dm
Blastin' with the Soul Assassins
Am
Askin' the question,
Dm
Am
Dm
teachin' the lesson
Am
Bringin' the West Coast back
Dm
Am
to the East Coast
Where it all started,
Dm
what're you, retarded
Am
You're startin' to trip
Dm
from that Jheri curl drip
Am
Soakin' in your brain,
Am
Is causin' pain, and feelin' pain
Dm
Am
Dm
So feel it
Verse 2
Dm
Chorus
Am
Dm
Just feel it
Am
Dm
Feel it
Am
Dm
Just feel it
Am
C'mon, y'all, feel it
Verse 3
Am
Back to the rhyme, I'm always on time
Dm
A lime to a lemon, yo, a lemon to a lime
Am
I rock the old school
style and it's futile
Dm
To step up, cause you'll get swept up
Am
Like dust, or I just might bust
and unload my clip
Unless you're a punk,
Dm
Am
then I'll just pop you in the lip
And show you the deal,
Dm
Am
now how did that feel
You know I'm killin' any
Dm
Am
pig that squeals
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,
Dm
it's like bustin' a nut
Am
So let me jerk off on the mic
Dm
Am
and get it sticky
When I drink a brew it's either
Am
I'll put your head out just like a
fuckin' Malboro
Don't fuck with me, punk,
Dm
you know that I'm thorough
Am
Bred like a race horse,
right- in- your- face force
Feedin' you beats,
straight off the streets
Dm
Am
So catch me catch me,
Am
You know I'm the man like
Chewbacca knows Han
Dm
Solo, bolos are what I'll be throwin'
Am
Dm
When I be flowin', I get the job done
Am
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
Dm
Am
Dm
So
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
feel
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
it
Outro 1
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
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