Kool Keith - Fright Night lyrics

[Flavor Flav] I can't hear nuttin though Alright, where you want me to start at? Aiyyo you can k** the music then Yo, check one two, check one two in the place to be From the bottom to the T-O-P That's right, Flavor Flav, Public Enemy From Bronx to L.A., we don't fail Kickin right here for 7th Veil My man Kool Keith, H-Bomb, no jive Yo, H-Bomb, hit 'em in the head son [H-Bomb] No blazes, tennis shoes and denim Pimp I got the gators, leathers I k** 'em Your bullsh** events, don't play right No tribute awards for Mr. Barry White It's Guantanamo Bay, industry's gay Hard to get rich, I don't swing that way That switch to funny make record in Kingston Jesus is black, tell Mel Gibson Who wears a skirt, Sting and Dave Navarro My strap, my money, don't lend, don't borrow The Sunset Strip is Gaza Strip Your clothin line is sh**, H is f**in sick! The rap game industry too quiet Hehehehehe hah hah Atkins Diet No backpackers pro-athlete actors I rep for pimps, pushers, jackers The P on the fitted I'm all for pimps I throw ropes down for my n***az in the clink (yeahhhh boy!) First and foremost, the industry don't want it f** it, I take what I want and flaunt it I'm not vexed, they spend for s** Who's next after Michael, f** Funkmaster Flex [Flavor Flav] Yeahhhh boyee, kickin it for 7th Veil That's right, H-Bomb (f** the industry, f** it) Kool Keith (f** the industry n***a f** it) Hit 'em G [Kool Keith] No game here, I sh** on you ill son f** Hollywood's best guest list Maximum dead-a** parties with flat-a** Paris Hilton My sh** shine bright with Von Dutch wipe Jockin my gators, b**hes with fake titties act like they don't s** dick, can you see me under the standard light f** the red carpet, I'm in here with standard hype You just at the crib on Sycamore Your blonde co*ker spaniel, my rings shine in your face Youse a a**wipe, you basketball player nut and scrotum jocker You the givin a** type, with the Minnesota Timberwolves Garnett's clockin your a** pipe Ugly monster-face b**h, you think you dressed tight Evil ba*tard, you make your grandmother upset Don't flush the toilet motherf**er, you tryin to start a fight Release the sh** off my chest, get rid of the gripe I sh** inside your grey and white Nikes Exercise your fat stomachs, no hamburgers at Chevies You ride them f**in bikes Corny-a** 42 year old player's club b**h The funky face motherf**in Wanda Sykes That baldheaded motherf**er just put a weave in, on UPN Whack-a** tattoos above your titties Your hard faced b**h, you'll see me again Like Faith Evans is the only one that sniffs All you c**aine motherf**ers in the hills Even Vivica Fox is a ugly b**h, chasin Curtis for his chips Engineer, just put me in that mix