Вершы: Mr 3-2. A Bad Azz Mixtape: V. Whatcha' Talkin Bout.

(feat. D'Capo, Hawk, Mr. 3-2, Quest)

[talking:]
Thugs, bad ass broads
What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout
What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout
Alcoholics, drug addicts
What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout
What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout

[Hook: x2]
Nigga fool in the club, and they talking loud
Diarreah at the mouth, I'll knock it out
What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout
What ya talking bout, what ya talking bout

[H.A.W.K.:]
In the club tripping, gon have niggaz blood dripping
Slugs hitting, gon have niggaz flesh ripping
I ain't tripping, I'm issuing out ass whippings
And outside I'm on 4's, glass tipping
Just as sho', as I pop my collar
There'll be a hole in your head, big as a half a dollar
I'm hard to swallow, looking bout the size of Kamala
And I'm ready to attack, like two rottweilers
I'm bout that dollar, all the hoes waiting to holla
And when I leave out the club, all the hoes gon follow
Respect the name, also respect my game
The hands will swang, if you disrespect me mayn
The flow is insane, niggaz can't shield my reign
It's your boy Big H.A.W.K., coming through your bang
Stay in your lane, or else I'll inflict pain
I'll rearrange your frame, when you hear bang-bang

[Hook x2]

[Mr. 3-2:]
If ya step on my shoes, I'll slap ya face
Tear up this place, prolly catch a case
Off alcohol, my blood be pumping
You bitch ass niggaz, ain't talking bout nothing
Say some'ing wrong, we gon have to squabble
Fuck your face off, with a champagne bottle
My motto, get this over with fast
Before words pass, I'm all on your ass
Security guards, and rent-a-cops better chill
In the parking lot, a nigga might get killed
For real, I ain't playing with bitch boys
My niggaz, always pack plastic toys
DJ, better turn the music off
I was trying to mack a bitch, y'all done pissed me off
Big Boss, Mr. 3-2 get crunk
Me and H.A.W.K., going hard on these chumps

[Hook x2]

[D-Capo:]
I pull up to the club, head breeze and two prone
From drink I'm gone, broads on ding-dong
I play like King Kong, I'll get em up off me
Game so smooth, they thinking that I'm salty
But I'm frosty playa, froze up like Alaska
Boys get to tripping, it's gon be a disaster
Faster, than diarreah mouths can blink
I slide em quick like lightening, then buzz em with a drink

[Quest:]
When I'm in the club, and these niggaz starting to talk too much
Buster niggaz better chill, 'fore I spark you up
The medics and them folks, gon have to chalk you up
That's the end nigga you caught with some'ing, nigga you off and drunk
In my ear, and you need to step back
Cause the tools that I pack, are known to stretch fat
Hot slugs, run through that ass like X-Lax
Then I'm make they neck crack, you best respect that

[Hook x2]