Proof - Cock and Squeeze lyrics

[Intro: Bugz] Yeah, y'all f*ggots.. (Hear me? Yeah.. ready set.. then take sh**) Y'all, the f**? Who wanna battle, what? None of y'all, do you? (no) Dirty Dozen, Outsidaz (what?) b**h Who wanna battle? [Bugz] Gimmie some hash, and when I trip n***a give me a mask Then after that lend me your mag and gimmie yo' cash That precious pen you call the life, I put it in too fast Get in your a** if you unhappily leave Eagle Man (yeah) You wanna see through gla**, don't pay much to breeze through cla** (b**h) You broke as f** and on the bus because your evil smash This sh** is lethal fast, battle me, I keep you mad Put you in a sleeper drag, your a** to the reepers pad Either blast, or feel the wrath of my heater lad Lyric punches makin meters blast, turn your speaker out Rear, club, or anywhere where there's people at They love my day, couldn't care where they leave's you at Your girl's a rat, tell that ho I'm not gon' beep her back Don't need her Glock, got too many other neater rats Who heater fat? I bet your gat ain't f**in wit my gat I'm on the lyrics, sayin the vocals that you almost clap (clap clap) Don't clap, you mo' wack than a cold sack You showin that when you blow, that's a known fact Clone rap, s** a MC broad, need to pick another fued What? And find you a job, or either go out and rob because Rappin ain'tcha function, you outta place Like a two of hearts and two of diamond in a game of spades While my inovative ways, shootcha lyrics to a blaze Put a grimace on your grade, I'mma guiness on the page The history, puttin, s**in n***as out they misery It's not a mystery, my victorys are bodacious (hah) It wouldn't matter if the judge is racist And I was battlin your aces in your b**hes basement I'm unf**-witable, thats literal, face it, the general The sisters of a senate-al, holdin on my genetals Right before I send the blows, down to earth like minerals Even after centerfolds (grr arf!) the videos, my evil goes Incognito hoes, I'mma skitle bros, Meena biter I hope you n***as catch a case of arthrit-ah You ain't no riders, and still don't even have a slider I D her when you need me, we gon' burst in into fighters (yeah, yeah b**h!) You motherf**in tighter [Hook] co*k, and, squeeze, bust, Dirty Dozen, don't f** wit us Detriot n***as roll deep, ho heat, and f** Slick Yeah, yeah b**h - stay off my dick! [Verse 2: Kon Artis] That's the time that you up and cuttin you wit a knife The situan, the alcohol bath for the night Then watch the strugglin, you squeal for your life (uh-huh) Dump a radio bumpin your demo in the bath wit the light That's what I take from you, meet you and fake humble Attack your foundation until it crumble So me and my dawg be on stumble Come off 'gnac but stayin in the right mind It's the blazin track and we're back, for fake individuals that rap Screamin out they group name like they scared and sh** Knownin that the Kon Artis come prepared wit clips Full of them male scritches (what?) You watch and take pictures (how you do that?) Notes and write down poets and 'bout how I rap and get witcha Told you n***as before we got much the game Nuttin to lose, corruptin the lives of all groups Tie 'em up and put 'em in situations to hurt 'em Tie 'em up to trees, you was throwin darts at 'em Wit venom in 'em, then murder 'em, servin 'em right He be, the Kon Artis {*screech*} swervin the night We rock from state to state (uh-huh) and city to city You make us sick like a f*ggot tryin silicon titties And already want a size D bra, I wanna die wit tight sh** Give it to y'all bleek raw, raw, raw, raw, raw Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah [Hook] [Proof] Gimmie a sicker than (?), check it out I turn a hard n***a yellow, and bake his a** faster than a cheetah Don't blaze no blunts (uh-huh) but I blaze them thangs Amaze your gang, wit bullets, I rattle your frame Who's that, bustin at, Big Suburban, hustle that Play wit three b**hes alias and four hustlers Bustin three Glocks, on your block Yellin my name loud, puttin bombs inside your mailbox And prepare docks - punch your dreadlocks, wait for the cops And tell 'em that yo' a** had beef wit Biggie and 2Pac I lit the flesh (uh-huh) shot bled to d**h (what?) Like Red and Meth, you need the hoop-a, shoop-a For battlin boards, got on a moyer, I sat on your horse Got battled thanks to your tours, show up at you Battlin your eyecore, pure wit this sh** On your mic rip, you might slip, fall, hang it up Like Sonny (?), peace to (?) Rock 'til the early morn', sh** is on Gotta a problem fiend, fiend problems My crew mug shot D-12 uglier than the green goblin I bring fear too, horror, near you A fact why nobody wanna hear you, you wack b*tch! What the f** you thought what happened When bullets start collapsin your frame Maintain to bring pain, freestyle fanatic named Pete First is off the paper, this one turn your auto vapor Me, MC, the extraordinar', steppin on your (?) Screamin "7 Mile b**h, come from Runyan" Hold down your fort, snort like c**aine Richard Pryor, I clap more clips than (?) Yeah, yeah b**h, what the f** you thought? Ya n***as get caught (?), I'm incredible like the hawk Watchin the facet n***a, P-R, the letter O My s** is hetero, cash checks like federal Your hetero, b**h! Hahahaha