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Lyrics
[F.a.T]
knick knack, patty wack smoke a bone in a cadillac
get ya dog stoned til he
for the Scooby Snacks its not a true fact
.i'm the dude they called in,
ta help stella get her groove -yah i went black,
did my damn thing, and came back
i got a thing for white chicks,
and there aint no explainin that
i'm a cross between an angel
and a monster that stomps
the street ,live off of weed,
brews and a smooth beat
i've got G's that'll shoot for me,
please, i dont use tools
i'm too cool for heat
been set on my mark like they do at meets
you one step ahead of the rest
i'm 2 atleast...you know why ?
Cuz things just aint the same for gangstas
white rappers takin the game away from us
the news sayin they dangerous
Red Giants the name, and flames they bust
get me outta this dre mimic,
its givin me a gay image
and i'm not about to be seen
nor displayed in it
i broke the chain off of my cage
i'm bathin' in "Stray livin'"
my manes itchin
but lemme say that todays b*** in
i'm on the borderline between sleep and a distorted mind
i counted 4 sheep on my couch wit porno on
i'm in dz's basement
i'll be his sleezy replacement
when he od's on speed and jesus takes him
[DZK]:
testify, it's the death-defying
hectic-rhyming, melody-riding, Red Giants
step and you die... you can get fed iron
get a head fulla lead, when my weapon send it flying
broken, skull, two smoking nostrils
I'm loco dog! you don't know what I'm gon' do
I've blown-brains open, close-range, stained-sofa's
in a hotel lobby... and no one caught me
so... honestly, cops would probably need a SWAT team
fulla coffee with caffeine to stop me
grab me, lock me, drag me... floppin and screamin
back to the presinct... I'm not leaving
police need helicopters just to see me
bomb-sniffin dogs on a leash to reach me
world-class african track-stars armed
packin straight-jackets, face-masks, radar, cars
eight packs of tranquilizer-darts - STAY BACK!
sh** , blink... and you get extinct like 8-track
tapes, *blast* crates, of gas and cases
of glass shrapnel fragments ready-to-spray with
stray, hazardous medical waste
jacked, straight, after terminal patients passed, away
^^it's that, incredible knack for devilish rap, that^^
makes me and this fella, FAT one hell of an act
I'm tellin you as clear as I can, if it was actually
any more accurately, it'd hafta be tele-pathically
if any of these happy-ass emcees after me
could catch what I been practicing, they'd be passively
passing me, rather than *gasp* - asking to battle me
and getting their asses flash-heated to past the degrees
seen by the blackest, evilest, ash in Hell,
I'm reaching a level the Devil himself couldn't-have-fell
to help you? no -- but I'll belt you, soon... I'll bet you
get found 'round the moons of Neptune
assume my smallest movement of one muscle stretching
crushes dudes with hundreds-a-f*** ing tons of pressure
"breathless" ... is a understatement
I hit a chest and lungs end up in other states, b***
yes, it's that hard, in fact... it's so hard
they don't leave your back, they leave your back-yard