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