Вершы: Boss Hog Barbarians (The). Every Hog Has Its Day. Hog Luv.

[J-Zone (female):]
(Hey daddy!) Hey beitch
(I wanna be your BITCH. How can I qualify?)
I mean, it takes a real special kind of lady
to be with a Boss Hog, y'knahmsayin? I mean
You just can't be any girl to be a Hogette
You gotta be that kind of girl you can take home
and show your grandmother, y'knahmsayin? I mean
You know what? I'm-I'ma tell you
I'ma tell you what kind of girl you need to be
Check it out, heh

I need a girl with extensions in her hair
Or she can be baldheaded, shit I don't care!
A crazy nag with a bad attitude
That's all I need to put me in a good mood
She beat her kids with a switch and joined the street gang
Start shit with other girls when they try to run game
Standin at the bus stop, waitin for the Q3
Settin metal detectors with her bootleg jewelry
Or a rich bitch from Long Isle' that actin like Hilary Banks
High as the national debt, straight whylin
Bougie, yet she drinks 40's of brew
A Yale graduate, yet she snorted all of her room
Used to search for a regular girl like a ass
But you got nuttin to lose when yo' hoe is low class
Faith beat up her pops for sport, Jan's a klepto
She can steal a 747 out an airport
My new broad is neurotic with a slight mustache
But somethin 'bout the crazy bitch won't let me quit her
She went trick-or-treatin with her kids to rob the homeowners
God damn nigga, maybe you should reconsider!
Maaan fuck that, I got no love with the wife type
I never met one, so I stick to the trife type
Got fo' kids, low class, but I can spank her
And got a trackin device, strapped to her ankle
So she ain't in the club, flirtin with Pharrell
She's home by eight o'clock cause she don't wanna go to jail
Met a Adrian Balboa bookworm type
But on the low a coke sniffin snow blower had to let her go
A grimy Far Rockaway thugmatic bitch
Suburban-ass soccer mom drug addict bitch
Every girl I date seems to be a nutcase
And I'm the only dude that never been to jail the slut dates
Lisa, Angela, Pamela, Robin
I don't need 'em, them hoes got problems
But I can't stay away, but if they ever need a place to stay
Stay the fuck from around my way, ya crazy bitch!

[Chorus: Boss Hog Barbarians]
Somethin about you - makes me wanna make you my wife
But bitch you trife and baldheaded with no job
Callin all hoodrats and psychos
They always wanna fight hoes
Drunk, high, about to do a bid
You wanna be a singer and you got four kids
Bitch you crazy, I should quit'cha
Aww fuck it, I'ma stay wit'cha

[Celph Titled:]
Silky, filthy, her gold teeth like sunshine
That's why I had to dedicate at least one room
To all them gangsta bitches from the neighborhood
Cause I'm the one to fuck you like no other brother would
Type to go to Burger King, splurge on some onion rings
Purple eyeliner, earrings the size of onion rings
These are things I like in my girls, I ain't playin
They the ones from junior high, skippin class, misbehavin
Gettin fucked in the stairwell, pregnant at 14
Runnin drugs back and forth in projects at Fort Greene
Asked if she could use a gun - she said, "Which one?"
I said the M-249 she said, "Yeah that's that shit son~!"
Keep her pussy clean but bitch grimy as hell
If cops find out she sell she'll be confined to a cell
She don't write no love letters, she snuffin them thug heffers
DipSet and D-Block, she only listen to thug records
Perm in your hair or even a curly weave
Buck fifty scar across the face as cute as can be
I need a bitch that's a rider that's the one for me
But she ain't gettin out of jail 'til I'm a hundred and three
And really most of y'all dudes is too soft for these broads
Offerin cards and candy, asian nails and massage
But I just pull out the garage in a hooptie, ready for action
For girls with tats on they breasts that read "Thug Passion"

[Chorus]

[J-Zone:]
Man fuck that, this is dedicated
to all my flaky, psychotic, drama queen ex-bitches
Doin time for stealin blank checks
Got enough kids to start a fuckin Pop Warner team
Doin more drugs than the cast of Different Strokes
Jealous ex-boyfriend havin rap groupie tramp punk hoe
Stop callin me, don't e-mail me, don't come to my shows
Kill that I love you talk cause love went out with the Reebok pump
I got nuttin for y'all but a case full of Bitch-B-Gon
and a can full of Hoe Repellant, abra-cadabra BITCH DISSAPEAR!