Chillin' at the studio
Chillin at the studio, 85 bucks an hour
So hurry up and loop a beat Mike, come on!
Uh, uh, uh
I'm Violent J but my homies call me 'Shithead'
But that's my homies, to you I'm Violent J, bitch
I put my boys on a track even though they suck
(Yo dawg, I'm Dave and I don't give a fuck)
I did a record deal, I signed a contract
Technically, for Island I can only rap
But fuck that, with Twiztid I'ma still spit
Even though I got a cold and I sound like shit
What the fuck was that?
Fuck it, leave it in, that shit is phat
You heard this beat eighty times, I'ma still freak it
And if you notice, my shit don't even rhyme
Look at that
I ain't even got a rap and it's still phat
My shit went gold, I got fat knots
And you're still flyering parking lots
You might say my vocals are up too loud
So I'mma turn 'em up louder to piss you off!
Psychopathic Records are geniuses
Get off our penises
Here comes the chorus, but I ain't got no Instead I'll just fuck with the phone book
(Hello?)
Yeah uh, Harry Sacks Please?
(Who is this?)
Uh, Harry, hey this is Slim Anus down at the cannery
Uh, Dick Shooter left a bulletin, something about, uh
You filling in his slot tonight down at the, uh, garage
We got a casement of fudge
We need as many packers as we can get, uh, uh Sacks
(Hello?)
Uh, uh
My name is Jamie Madrox and I got fat balls (uh-huh)
I'm always urinating in the motel halls (that's right)
I got a big head that never fits a hat (word up)
So you ain't see me wearing a damn thing green bitch
I'm far from rich, I gotta hoopty (hoopty)
With a smash in the fender, and in the back too
I gotta a broken tail light and I'll smash you (like that)
Bitch, get outta my way, we got clown love (uh)
Fat props to the lyrical Tom Dove
It's the M-O-N-O, and I can't even spell the rest (uh)
It takes too long and I need a fuckin' cigarette (uh)
I can't hear, my right ear's mad wack (uh)
So shut the fuck up and listen or get an ass kickin' (uh-uh-uh-uh)
I slap hoes and call them bitches to their face
And scream "Now fuck off bitch, Twiztid in the place"
So back up, recognize and check nuts
'Cause simply my dear, I don't give a fuck!
(Psychopathic)
Yo, this is Mo' Styles in this piece, what's up son?
(Hello?)
Yeah, what's up son? I'm lookin' fo this deal
You know what I'm sayin'? I got raps to bust fo y'all
Y'all ready fo Mo' Styles?
I'm-I'm 'bout to kick this flow, y'all ready fo this shit or what?
(Who's this?)
Word light son, I'm Mo' Styles, I'm straight from the hood
I got all my peoples on 1-800 in Crenshaw
We comin' hard
Bring it, bring it, bring it
My names 2 Dope, and sometimes Shaggy (uh)
Sometimes Shags, and sometimes Greedy (uh-huh)
I get mad stupid, I gets mad ill (that's right)
Locked down in all five, fuck it, I do this still
Stretch my nuts back like a slingshot and plant 'em in your mouth
Shake my hips like Elvis, wiggling my pelvis
Last kid that stepped, I applied a Camel Clutch
And stretched his back like a Motherfuckin' bungee jump, what! (Uh-uh-uh-uh)
I'm Violent J back to make you smile more
I let my nutsack drag on the tile floor
I kick free styles, for miles
My gold comes in piles, I worked on Belle Isle
I picked up deer shit, and now I spit raps
I snap your neck 'cause my freestyles are fresh
