Style Wars

(albüm: SlaughtaHouse - 1993)

Check it out and
Check it out and a
Check it out and
Check it out and a
Check it out and
Check it out and a
Check it out and
Check it out and a

It's the Ricky, here we go, ticky, 'tavi' [?]
Yo my dick be, brown like Robbie
I'll be frying
Heads with my scientifical
Mind, your brain cells are frying
Flying, flacking, packing a tour
Macking, jacking, smacking a whore
So fuck Lodi Dodi or, any other hottie, uh
I get wrecked like the planes at La Guardia
I'm rowdy like Roddy Piper, I'm hyper
Type of guy to let it fly like a sniper
Viper, flashing, slashing a verse and
Here's more nigga-nigga, black like a hearse and
Cursing crazy, dirty ass mouth
My dick is longer than 95-South
Damn, I'm teed off like Howie, like Roxanne I'm real
Plus I'm the Master who talk what he feel
Like a eel, electrifying, I'm trying to
Stop the madness, the black man is dying
Word up, dialect for the dome
I live in a cage but the cage ain't my home
I'm a chrome down and a wide body kit
I'm bold like that shit you wash your clothes with
So sit down and check how I am
But that's not who I am

Hut one, hut two, hut three, hut four
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war

Follow me and
Follow me and a
Everybody, everybody, follow me and a
Everybody, everybody, follow me and a

You wanna go to war with the nigga then you're sick
I'm quick with the hut one, two that I kick
Ass, pumping like gas through your town
And I won't turn my jungle music down
You can call it what you want but I came to cause a commotion
Check out the flow son, you might get the notion
To run but you cannot hide, there's no escaping
The super-duper, hero with a cape and
Your son bought my tape and
You're wanted for raping, my mother
My culture, you just left a gaping hole
I'm in control like Marley
I'm crashing my jeep into your bullshit Harley
So get off the road rednecks here I come
With a hundred-and-twenty-one kids from the slums, getting dumb
Brooklyn, the Bronx, Watts, Queens, Compton, and 20 other spots
Yo, I be writing up the mad composition
Mission to uplift black man's position
Then go fishing, and catch me a whale
A great big white one, and put him on sale
If I fail, I'm gonna go back, and
Put 'em in jail, and make 'em smoke crack, and
Get 'em off track and, even up the score
Attack his daughter, and treat her like a whore
Fool! Masta Ace is the kid
Making sure that the punk mother F'ers get did

Hut one, hut two, hut three, hut four
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war

Follow me and
Follow me and a
Everybody, everybody, follow me and...
Everybody, everybody, follow me and...
Everybody, everybody, follow me and...
Everybody, everybody, follow me and...

That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war
That is the sound when it's time to go to war