| Lyrics: | Get up funky... huh, let me here ya talk, talk about bitch
Me I'm a victim of a young
girl's suck
Feeling the emotions through my body ass butt
Everytime I see her in that god
damned dress
Fell the stomach, busy stomach, that's what I have to confess
Ah,
that's me ya what you see ya
Telling 'bout my stomach and my feels ya
Ah that's me ya,
watcha see ya
Telling bout, telling bout me ya
This is a thing that everybody knows
about
Every boy and bitch so myself I mustn't worry about
Easy to find, huh, hard to
lose
So me myself and I, we got no chance to choose
I can't tell ya what I feel
ya
This is a motherfucking problem that I hate ya
I can't tell ya what I feel ya
I
hate it but I take it but I try to surpress ya
Chorus:
Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said
fuck the facts
Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said fuck the facts
In addition to the point I
was talking about
You must remember my name and all my habits and my attitude
So listen to
the things that I've got to tell
My name is G on the B.A.S.S. B.G
Hit the bass in
the face seven days of the week ya
Hanging 'round my posse that's what everybody needs
ya
Me and my band, that's what I stay for - stay for
Me and my band, that's what I pray
for - pray for
Music has a use for my personality
Cause if I'd loose it I wouldn't
stand it if you know what mean
My heart is hundred percent music that's what I feel ya - feel
ya
I feel the drummers kick in my B.O.D.Y. so
I try to combine my fucking emos to
the bitch hit
Try to fight it with my music as hatred
I try to combine my fucking emos to
the bitch hit
Try to combine it with my music as hatred
Chorus
What about
my girl, man?
What about my music, man?
Ina bona lita
I can't stand that shit |
