Ayy, Boo, get these motherfuckers and pass that jack

I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit
Get the fuck from round' here, you don't rep my shit
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You want that drama, you ain't ready for it, bitch
Now throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up
Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) You ain't ready for it, bitch
Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up! Throw it up
You ain't ready for it, bitch

I already got, two cars in the yard that don't run
So why would I wanna break shit down for you?
Better me confuse with the punchlines and bars that I launch
Here the king of archery come, with a cracker dick
To fuck you in that pussy carpet you munch
If I'm not hardly the one, you must be barely the one billionth
Really you kiddin', bitch I'm the prodigal son
And I'm stuntin' like my daddy, d-dr-d-drinkin' like my mama
C-C-country like my uncles, stutterin' like a CD in a donk
Bump, bump, bump, bump
And I'm in a blue Chevy, runnin' over motherfuckers in first
I ain't even shift gears yet, I ain't even here yet, I'm outta this Earth
Right? (Yeah ho!) But I just hit the surface
And I'm 'bout to walk into a bank with a shank and a black can of paint to check the clerk
(Where the keys?) Bitch you better take your purse! I got a brick of herb
And I hit the syrup, and I'm feeling like I might just hit the curb
So get the fuck outta my way buddy you don't wanna walk around the chicken house
With a heart of a puppy dog with Yelawolf and Eminem, shit,
Sufferin' succotash, yeah, suck a dick, bitch

I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit
Get the fuck from round' here, you don't rep my shit
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You want that drama, you ain't ready for it, bitch
Now throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up
Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) You ain't ready for it, bitch
Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up! Throw it up
You ain't ready for it, bitch

Bitch please you don't wanna step up to this Misses
G-A-N-G-S-T-A will make a nigga hit his knees when
I'm up in the buildin', preach it to my children
I don't be takin' no shit from you haters
You'll make me hurt one of your feelings
(Ha ha ha), Nah nah ni nah nah
Pick your face up off the floor, I got you feelin' sad now
You be on that Hokey Wag, Hokey Wag is bullshit
Run into this gangsta, have your preacher at pull pit
Bitch, I was born on the Mississippi River
Take no shit from a bitch or a nigga
So so crazy gotta fucked up temper
Bi-pola', not Nicki, I'm worser, I'll hurt ya
Ha ha, I got a crazy ass mind game
Ma nigga, I'm a lion, untamed
Hunt ya ass down in my jungle, I do this
I tell them hoes, "You ain't ready for it bitch"

I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit
Get the fuck from round' here, you don't rep my shit
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You want that drama, you ain't ready for it, bitch
Now throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up
Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) You ain't ready for it, bitch
Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up! Throw it up
You ain't ready for it, bitch

I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin'

Me and Yelawolf, tear the roof, off this motherfucker
You ain't got the umph, you're a hoof, to the foot of an elephant
Hello toots, you look so eloquent, that's what I tell a cunt
Come sit up front cause you're kickin' my seat
And I'm tryin' to the tell the cashier what I want
They say I act like an asshole, when I pull up at the White Castle
And I ask for an appli-cation, throw it back in her face an'
Tell the bitch I'm a rapper, then I wack her
In the head with a Whopper that I bought from BK
You expect me to be proper?
Bitch you better pop in a CD of me immediately, slut, ho Skidda dee da da
Prada? Not a chance, I was thinkin' about buyin' you some clothes
But Target was closed so I decided to mosey on over to K-Mart, but the doors
Was locked, what about some shoes I thought, great I suppose
So I go to Payless but what'dya know, they didn't carry a size eight in hoes
Oh! This is ugly boy swag, puttin' toe tags on you motherfuckin' ho bags
What a trailer trash pioneer, I am here, that's why I'm here
I don't got a rhyme book it's more like a motherfuckin' diary of diarrhea
Me, Yelawolf and Gangsta Boo came here to show you a thing or two
'Bout sign language, middle fingers aimed at you
So we don't gotta scream at you
Ow! I just bit my bottom lip, it was an accident
I went to go tell 'em all to go get bucked
But I'm never gonna bite my tongue, little bitch throw it up

I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' Writer/s: Lola Chantrelle Mitchell, Luis Edgardo Resto, Marshall B. Mathers III, Michael Wayne Atha, William Booker Washington
Publisher: BMG Rights Management, ME GUSTA MUSIC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind