Aye boo get these motherf**ers and pa** that jack
I see you b**hes talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' sh**
Get the f** from round' here, you don't rep my sh**
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You want that drama, you ain't ready for it b**h!
Now throw it up! (Yeah Ho) Throw it up!
Throw It up! (Yeah Ho) You ain't ready for it b**h
Throw It up! (Yeah Ho) Throw It up! Throw It up!
You ain't ready for it b**h
I already got, two cars in the yard that don't run
So why would I wanna break sh** 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 f** you in that p**y carpet you munch
If I'm not hardly the one, you must be barely the one billionth
Really you kiddin', b**h 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 motherf**ers 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?) b**h 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 f** outta my way buddy you don't wanna walk around the chicken house
With a heart of a puppy dog with Yelawolf and Eminem, sh**,
Sufferin' succotash, yeah s** a dick, b**h
I see you b**hes talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' sh**
Get the f** from round' here, you don't rep my sh**
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You want that drama, you ain't ready for it b**h!
Now throw it up! (Yeah Ho) Throw it up!
Throw It up! (Yeah Ho) You ain't ready for it b**h
Throw It up! (Yeah Ho) Throw It up! Throw It up!
You ain't ready for it b**h
b**h please you don't wanna step up to this Misses
G-A-N-G-S-T-A will make a n***a hit his knees when
I'm up in the buildin', preach it to my children
I don't be takin' no sh** 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 bullsh**
Run into this Gangsta, have your preacher at pull pit
b**h, I was born on the Mississippi River
Take no sh** from a b**h or a n***a
So so crazy gotta f**ed up temper
Bi-pola', not Nicki I'm worser, I'll hurt ya
Ha ha, I got a crazy a** mind game
Ma n***a, I'm a lion, untamed
Hunt ya a** down in my jungle, I do this
I tell them hoes, "You ain't ready for it b**h!"
I see you b**hes talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' sh**
Get the f** from round' here, you don't rep my sh**
You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
You want that drama, you ain't ready for it b**h!
Now throw it up! (Yeah Ho) Throw it up!
Throw It up! (Yeah Ho) You ain't ready for it b**h
Throw It up! (Yeah Ho) Throw It up! Throw It up!
You ain't ready for it b**h
I see you b**hes talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin'
Me and Yelawolf, tear the roof, off this motherf**er
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 c*nt
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 a**hole, when I pull up at the White Castle
And I ask for an appli-cation, throw it back in her face an'
Tell the b**h 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?
b**h you better pop in a CD of me immediately, s*ut, 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 motherf**in' 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 motherf**in' 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 b**h throw it up
I see you b**hes talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin'