Brooks: Yo, we recording?nDude: YeahnBrooks: Ok. Hold on a minute. Lemme stretch out.nnB to the r to the o to the o to the k to the s to thenB to the u to the f to the o to the r to the dnYeah, God straight fucked up when he made menYeah go head buck up grab that micnDon't give a fuck if you scream all nightnYou ain't no rapper, quit that shitnStick to surfboards, suck my dicknI came to clean house, punch and roundhousenRhyme and run mouth, straight from down southnThat's why all of y'all punks got droppednI'll be the first to say, Fuck rap-rock!nI'm pumpin' OutKast and Goodie MobbnWhat U know about La-Di-DanBoogie Down and the historynHow y'all came up a mysterynI've lived this hip-hop shit my whole lifenAnd it almost took my lifenI die for this, bleed for thisnYou want this, I need thisnLet the world go to hell, I'll still fill notebooksnAnd I know just how that coke cooknCouldn't come thru the front so I came thru the backnWith a band and a bottle of JacknDog, I ain't stupid, go ahead let's freestylenI'll be havin' you lookin' like a shit pilenThe ATL version of 8 MilenWith a jumpsuit dipped in argylenBangin' four or five ho's in the back of a RodeonDriving down RodeonWith a shot gun in my mindnMD 20/20 one more timenOne more flow, one more shownOne million hundred ninety-nine to gon'Keep it real'. Naw, fuck that, make moneynAnd try to buy up the whole countrynAin't afraid to die so punch menEven rhyme with my head cut off like a chicken, stickin' to my dreamsnEverything ain't what it seemsnCome on dummy, run that gamenSouthern boy with a brainnYou all slept didn't younWhole bunch for me, none for younI really hate to rub it innBut I got all my publishing, that's rightnBut anyway bustin' on this micnBetter than smokin' on that pipenSome they hate, some they likenSome they talk, some they bitenMonday morn' to Sunday nightnLet's get this party started right?nWrong!nnBreak that bong, sing alongnDo a line til the break o' dawn, til the money gonenBack up that buck, it's mine again nHijacked a truck of Heineken nLooks like it's time for a line again nAnd how bout five Kolonapin nAnd I start to grin and I start to dance nI’m speakin’ in tongues, takin' off my pants nI'm blowin' my whole goddamn advance nAnd we ain't gonna stop 'til the ambulance
Notraprock
Brooks Buford
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Lyrics by Brooks Buford
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