[Intro:]
Nigga, come off. Check this out. Check this out
Listen, all this shit y'all talking ain't got no frills
We'll pass the 40 around and we'll see who's got some skills, I mean
If you got 'em, you got 'em, and if you don't –
(I got skins. I got skins) You're over
So Mista Lawnge, listen, I give this brew to you
I'm gonna pour some out for my man Pee-Wee (Pee-Wee!)
And do what you gotta do
Alright, nlack – bust it
[Verse 1: Mista Lawnge]
I'm the Sugar Dick Daddy, fuck what you think
Pass the 40 right by me, 'cause you know I don't drink
I remain sober when I drop a hit
But I put gum in my ass, 'cause I like to pop shit
When it comes to pullin' guns, I might do it
But put your guard up, black, and I'ma run right through it
Don't sleep on the size, thinkin' I'm easy to beat
'Cause I'll be up in that ass like a bike seat
And when it comes to boning, I'm Mr. Erect-icy
Hoes come by the crib for a free hysterectomy
I've got a dick that I brag about
I put it in fast, then I drag it out
Girls, I'll be the special friend, see
'Cause your man suffers from pseudo-penis envy
I do damage (Oh, uhm)
The Sugar Dick is guaranteed to make you cum
Now I pass the 40, 'cause you heard from me
So, go get a forklift, Chi-Ali
[Verse 2: Chi-Ali]
Well, I'm too young for 40s, and too young for blunts
The only thing I'm not too young for is the stunts
The girlies, the ladies, I love them with a passion
But back to the mic, 'cause I'm always down for action
Many emcees fall to the dust
Some will rust, 'cause I bust and I crush
You can't touch
I'm the child of the wild, the flavor of the Nile
I gave you plenty of chances, still ya fuck with this style
Now that you know, Chi-Ali can't be tooken
Pass the 40, 'cause my mother's not lookin'
[Verse 3: Hot Dog]
Yo, give me that, kid, your pops will put you in the morgue
Listen to Hot diggity Dog
Bibb bow wow wow wow wow
Yippity yie yo, yipity yo yie, yeah
Diggity Dog is rocking and, yes, I'm definitely here to stay
Pass me 40, Pass me 40, pass it if you may
Because my jimmy is hard and, yes, I have a ho to slay
And when I'm funking the bitches, they go "Huhhhhhh"
When I'm funkin' the bitches, they go "Huhhhhhh"
Y'all drink the 40, I drink a Guinness Stout
And when I see you home, I'm out
Yo, Baby Chris, pass me the keys to the car
I'm runnin late for my ménage à trois
[Verse Four: Chris Lighty]
Pass it, tap it, and then crack it
Take a small swig, or down it like a pig
You're too tippy to operate this rig
On the mic, you suckers I strike in flight
Here's a D.W.I. for drivin' drunk with the mic
From Chi, to Lawnge, and all those in this fight
Loosen your grip, 'cause you're holding it too tight
It'll take a body count, I know my body count is right
Five drunk niggas from my left to my right
And maybe a ho that I'm with tonight
But it's all right, yo! It's alright
So Dave, my grip is getting weak
Grab the 40, so I can hear you speak
[Verse Five: Dave Gossett]
I live large, caviar and limos
Spend most of my time refusing bullshit demos
Can you understand? Do you understand?
Well let me explain, I'm the A&R man
Dave Gossett, yes I rock it
I rip the mic and I stuff pockets
Don't believe me? Ask the Sheep, see
They got the money, think it's funny
Always scooping all the honey
Oops, I meant to say hoes
Broke my own rhyme
What, ya didn't know? Ut oh
I see a stroblelite ho, "I gotta go, I gotta go"
Yo, Dres, it's your turn
Act like gonorrhea and burn, baby, burn
[Verse 6: Dres]
Step into the booth qnd give 'em proof
That Black Sheep don't need jack to get loose
And rip a roof, loosen a tooth
You're in my fuckin' way, so move
And let a nigga get smooth
Honeys play me close 'cause my goods are on display
So, I play 'em like vitamins and take a ho a day
I pull 'em like a dentist
MoId 'em like a teacher
Knock 'em like a bowler
Fleece 'em like a preacher
Step, get 'em, man, go to school, join a band
It makes no difference whether
Dres is that type of brother that will hit that ass forever
'Cause I'm clever, ever, never ever
Have I lost my sight, or said "might," or went a boneless night?
Not talkin' 'bout chicken, but if she's finger-lickin'
I will let it be known
Don't bite the bone
Microphones, I like 'em, 'cause they let me amplify
So don't reach for the sky, you know you can't fly
But still you reach up higher, a Black Sheep-type desire
Then you look up at me, 'cause I'm a frequent flyer
So now you got beef, chief – grief will be your claim
I sport a full metal jacket, give your beef some lo mein
'Cause I'm swingin like a swinger, singing like a singer
I'm lookin' for your [fendahl], or your ho, so, did you bring her?
Ah, I'm just bullshittin'
Almost time for quittin'
There's money to be made, and booty to be hittin
Look and you will see
Dres that's who I be
A divine incline of mine is studio time
