Fright Night

[Flavor Flav] I can't hear nuttin though Alright, where you want me to start at? Aiyyo you can kill 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 kill 'em Your bullshit 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 shit, H is f*ckin 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 niggaz in the clink (yeahhhh boy!) First and foremost, the industry don't want it f*ck it, I take what I want and flaunt it I'm not vexed, they spend for sex Who's next after Michael, f*ck Funkmaster Flex [Flavor Flav] Yeahhhh boyee, kickin it for 7th Veil That's right, H-Bomb (f*ck the industry, f*ck it) Kool Keith (f*ck the industry nigga f*ck it) Hit 'em G [Kool Keith] No game here, I shit on you ill son f*ck Hollywood's best guest list Maximum dead-ass parties with flat-ass Paris Hilton My shit shine bright with Von Dutch wipe Jockin my gators, bitches with fake titties act like they don't suck dick, can you see me under the standard light f*ck the red carpet, I'm in here with standard hype You just at the crib on Sycamore Your blonde cocker spaniel, my rings shine in your face Youse a asswipe, you basketball player nut and scrotum jocker You the givin ass type, with the Minnesota Timberwolves Garnett's clockin your ass pipe Ugly monster-face bitch, you think you dressed tight Evil bastard, you make your grandmother upset Don't flush the toilet motherf*cker, you tryin to start a fight Release the shit off my chest, get rid of the gripe I shit inside your grey and white Nikes Exercise your fat stomachs, no hamburgers at Chevies You ride them f*ckin bikes Corny-ass 42 year old player's club bitch The funky face motherf*ckin Wanda Sykes That baldheaded motherf*cker just put a weave in, on UPN Whack-ass tattoos above your titties Your hard faced bitch, you'll see me again Like Faith Evans is the only one that sniffs All you cocaine motherf*ckers in the hills Even Vivica Fox is a ugly bitch, chasin Curtis for his chips Engineer, just put me in that mix