lirik lagu w c – revenge of the barracuda
[intro: tracy nelson]
barracuda, ba ba barracuda!
awww awwww barracuda awww awwww
awww awwww barracuda awww awwww
[dj crazy toones scratching quotes below:]
awww awwww awww awwww oh! here we go again – [w.c.]
here we go again, here we go again – [w.c.]
here we go again, go again – [w.c.]
all i know is i wanna hear some gangster sh-t – [crazy toones]
f-ck all that knight sh-t – [crazy toones]
dub.. dub sizzler, from the westside – [w.c.]
f-ck.. f-ck.. f-ck.. f-cking up the pro.. pro.. program – [w.c.]
[verse 1: w.c.]
sliding in the door like i’m so hard
with the fresh card hard folded on my forearm
you know that go hard, south central bogart
west ghetto vet still rolling like a go-cart
i’m from the era when most rappers was scared to wear red (come on!)
before the tight clothes and mascara
when these mark rappers from the blue side, claiming they’re with it
but scared to walk on the screen ’til i did it
blam blam – leave that -ss open
f-ck them, feed them fish, dump their body in the ocean
you rap n-gg-z know the business
when i come around y’all be hiding from me like the jehovah’s witness
they call me quick spray, cause i’ve been with this gangster sh-t
since grandmaster flash had beads on the french braids
lay you down n-gg- how i sound?
f-ck y’all b-tch n-gg-z – l.a. is my town!
[hook: w.c.]
come on! throw it up! load it up! hold it up!
walk in on them with the twelve gauge n-gg- roll it up
from the west to the east, to the south, to my midwest n-gg-z
y’all know what i’m about!
throw it up! hold it up! give it up! chuck it up!
put my chuck taylors on a jump out to f-ck it up
from the west to the east, to the south, to my midwest n-gg-z
the barracuda is out!
[verse 2: w.c.]
back out y’all!
sending your favorite rapper’s sun shades
flying off his face like a foul ball
from the left side known what i’m about y’all
i can’t do the right thing, n-gg- i’m a south paw
nasty spitting them, flowing identical (come on!)
standing on the couch in the club, holding my genitals
golf hat to the low, chicken heads i’m getting those
putting smoke in the air like a pack of seminoles
leaving my sh-t stains on the instrumental
off the hard liquor mineral – the hood star general (come on!)
while you were sucking t-tty milk just a little tender
i was in a creased sweatshirt playing defender
n-gg-! – the harder they come the harder they fall
pulling out my marker striking and hitting up the wall
blowing that holding that still strapped like a prophylac’
staying down like the cuffs on my corker sacks
[outro: tracy nelson]
next message, received at 4:20
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