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[Intro: Yelawolf] Aye Boo, get these motherf*ckers And pass that jack [Hook: Gangsta Boo] I see you b*tches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit Get the f*ck from 'round here, you don't rep my shit You ain't from my city, you don't know about this You don't want that drama, you ain't ready for it b*tch! Now throw it up! (Yeah ho) Throw it up! Throw it up! (Yeah ho) You ain't ready for it b*tch Throw it up! (Yeah ho) Throw it up! Throw it up! You ain't ready for it b*tch [Verse 1: Yelawolf] I already got 2 cars in a yard that don't run So why would I wanna break shit down for you Better be confused with the punch lines and bars that I lunch Here the king if archery come Wit' a cracker d*ck to f*ck you and that pussy carpet you munch If I'm not hardly the one You must be barely the one Billy if really you're kiddin' B*tch I'm the prodigal son And I'm stuntin' like my daddy Dr-dr-drinkin' like my mama Co-co-country like my uncle Stuttering like a CD in a dunk P-p-p-punk And I'm in a blue Chevy runnin' over motherf*ckers in first I ain't even shift gears yet, I ain't even here yet I'm outta this earth, right (yeah ho) But I just hit the surface and I'm bout to walk into a bank, Wit' a shank and a black can of paint and check the clerk: where the keys? B*tch you better check your purse, I got a brick of herb, And I hit the syrup and I'm feeling like I might just hit the curb So get the f*ck outta my way buddy You don't wanna walk around the chicken house with a hawk little puppy dog Yelawolf and Eminem shit Sufferin' succotash, yeah, suck a d*ck b*tch [Hook: Gangsta Boo] I see you b*tches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit Get the f*ck from round' here, you don't rep my shit You ain't from my city, you don't know about this You don't want that drama, you ain't ready for it b*tch! Now throw it up! (Yeah ho) Throw it up! Throw it up! (Yeah ho) You ain't ready for it b*tch Throw it up! (Yeah ho) Throw it up! Throw it up! You ain't ready for it b*tch [Verse 2: Gangsta Boo] B*tch please, you don't want to step up to this Mrs. G-A-N-G-S-T-A Boo make a n*gga hit his knees When I'm up in the building Preaching to my children I don't be taking no shit from you haters You'll make me hurt one of your feelings (ha, ha, ha, ha, ha) Naa, naa, ne, naa, naa Pick yo face up off the flo' I got you feeling sad naa You be on that hokeewag Hokeewag is bullshit Run into this gangsta have your preacher at the pulpit, b*tch! I was born on the Mississippi River Take no shit from a b*tch or a n*gga So, so crazy got a f*cked up temper Bipolar, not Nikki, I'm worsa, I'll hurt cha I gotta crazy ass mind game My n*gga, I'm a lion untamed Hunt your ass down in my jungle I do this, I tell them hoes, You ain't ready for it b*tch! [Hook: Gangsta Boo] I see you b*tches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit Get the f*ck from round' here, you don't rep my shit You ain't from my city, you don't know about this You don't want that drama, you ain't ready for it b*tch! Now throw it up! (Yeah ho) Throw it up! Throw it up! (Yeah ho) You ain't ready for it b*tch Throw it up! (Yeah ho) Throw it up! Throw it up! You ain't ready for it b*tch [Verse 3: Eminem] Me and Yelawolf tear the roof of this motherf*cker You ain't got the oomph you're a hoof to the foot of an elephant Hello toots you look so eloquent that's what I tell a cunt Come sit up front cause you're kickin' my seat And I'm tryin' to the tell the cashier what I want! They say I act like an asshole, when I pull up at the White Castle And I ask for an appli-cation, throw it back in their face and Tell the b*tch I'm a rapper, then I wrap her In the head with a Whopper that I bought from BK You expect me to be proper? B*tch you better pop in a CD of me immediately, slut hoe skeedideedada Prada? Not a chance, I was thinkin' about buyin' you some clothes But Target was closed so I decided to mosey on over to K-Mart, but the doors Was locked, what about some shoes I thought, great I suppose So I go to Payless but what'dya know, they didn't carry a size 8 in hoes! Oh! This is ugly boy swag, puttin' toe tags on you motherf*ckin' ho bags What a trailer trash pioneer, I am yeah, that's why I'm here I don't got a rhyme book it's more like a motherf*ckin' diary that diarrhea Me, Yelawolf and Gangsta Boo came here to show you a thing or two 'Bout sign language, middle fingers aimed at you So we don't gotta scream at you! Ow! I just bit my bottom lip, it was an accident I went to go tell 'em all to go get f*cked But I'm never gonna bite my tongue, little b*tch throw it up |