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Komponister
Udøvende kunstnere

Tekster: Kool Keith. The Lost Masters. Baby Baby.

Baby, baby, you feel it, lady
Can you feel it?

Built to last, I'ma reduce competition
Stretched like a G-string, stay in that ass
Eliminate your words you think are tough
By movin? herbs, you think you're rough

Spice Girl figures, your hype man sucks
Y'all powderpuff, stop thumpin' stuffin'
Everythin' your producer make is cuddly and fluffy
Soft as Kleenex tissue, you with the coalition pushin' the vinyl
Funny style, movin' the feminine issue

Attack you mentally, you know I would get you
Gorilla shots, you figure out what animal bit you
Tractor trailer from the side hit you
Tryin' to figure what animal hit you

Tryin' to figure out

You tryin' to play me like I'm from Montreal, Calgary
You never noticed G
How the thirty-eight weighs a lot of pounds and what it be
If you knew, you wouldn't be standin' in front of me

A 100% of you is imitation, take off that baseball cap
In Jersey, ask your mother, you?se a wannabe
A $46, 3 color face watch
Yellow band, don't step to me, I know your estimate B

Don't question me
You met the rude awakenin', find the best of me
I don't care about your favorite rapper, they're less than me
Urinate on your V.I.P. area where girls roam
Piss on your dome, bodyguard, face the CIP area

You know what's comin', nigga

I knew I had to make a record soon
Destroy your whole mechanism
Compilate on your Meoshe jeans in fake records soon
You blew up alright, you?se a blip

Up in the air homo, your crew is a helium balloon
You guys with thug mentality
Wearin' them tight ass black thongs with black Sassoons
Smooth on your anus
Your girl defecate my diamonds out with brooms and mushrooms

You cats face the public here, you know the rules
From MC Hammer down to Lil' Romeo
Out of 2 million rappers you pick a name and lose
I penetrate news, my Tomahawk missiles piss on Cruise

You know, baby
Can you tell I'm bad?
You know, lady, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey