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Viewing Lyrics for Feel It:
| | | Artist: | House Of Pain |
| | Album: | House of Pain | | Track: | Feel It | | | | Date Added: | 18/10/2007 | | Views: | 5 | | | | Lyrics: | Meanwhile back at the ranch we got Bo Duke and Daisy goin' to
go see Boss Hogg. Then ya
got Kooter fixin' over them cars...
I don't need a glock cause I'm not a hard rock
Got bitches on my jock like New Kids On The Block
I can't lose like Parker Lewis
I'm undefeated
Step into my sector homeboy you'll get greeted
By the 380 colt
mustang in my pocket
I had a few drinks already don't make me cock it
Cause if I
have to cock it, well then it's gettin' shot
And if it's gettin' shot, well, yo, you're
gettin' bucked down
I don't fuck around, I ain't got time for punks
But I got time
to smoke all the skunk philly blunts
Stunts gather round, check out the sound
And
let's get down to do the nasty, freaky, funky
Stinky, junky, let's bump uglies in the
nighttime
Between the sheets
Cause I rock fly rhymes over funky beats
The
Celtic ruin, the legion of doom
Now gimme the track, or with the fat back doom
Now
gimme some room, and I'll explode
Cock back my hammer, then squeeze off my load
So
hit the road, Jack, and don't come back no more
Or I'll be moppin' up the floor with your
crew of soft core
Punk pussy bitches, jail house snitches
On stage, I get wrecked
and I collect my riches
I get the funky style, and like Gomer Pile
You'll be
'Surprise surprise surprise!' as I
Rise to the top, fuck a punk cop
I'm always
hip-hop, only a pimple goes pop
So you better quit, zit
I came to rip shit
Blastin' with the Soul Assassins
Askin' the question, teachin' the lesson
Bringin'
the West Coast back to the East Coast
Where it all started, what're you, retarded
You're startin' to trip from that Jheri curl drip
Soakin' in your brain, the House Of Pain
Is causin' pain, and feelin' pain
So feel it
Chorus
Just feel
it
Feel it
Just feel it
C'mon y'all, feel it
Back to the
rhyme, I'm always on time
A lime to a lemon, yo, a lemon to a lime
I rock the old
school style and it's futile
To step up, cause you'll get swept up
Like dust, or I
just might bust and unload my clip
Unless you're a punk, then I'll just pop you in the lip
And show you the deal, now how did that feel
You know I'm killin' any pig that
squeels
I'm fillin' up reels of tape with my fly rhymes
And I've got a subsciption
to High Times
Son Dooby's in the back, the Mexican Ralph Emms is on the track
My DJ
Lethal, he's on the cut
When I bust a dope rhyme, it's like bustin' a nut
So let me
jerk off on the mic and get it sticky
When I drink a brew it's either Guiness or mickeys
I'll put your head out just like a fuckin' Malboro
Don't fuck with me, punk, you know
that I'm thorough
Bred like a race horse, right-in-your-face force
Feedin' you
beats, straight off the streets
So catch me catch me, if you can
You know I'm the
man like Chewbacca knows Han
Solo, bolos are what I'll be throwin'
When I be
flowin', I get the job done
Cause I'm number one, the Prodigal Son
I left and I came
back, but not with the same rap
And not with the same style, I'm known to get buckwild
The luck of the Irish spreads like a virus
So feel it
Chorus | | | |
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