Throw It Up

Album: Radioactive (2011)
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  • Ayy, Boo, get these motherfuckers and pass that jack

    I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit
    Get the fuck from round' here, you don't rep my shit
    You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
    You want that drama, you ain't ready for it, bitch
    Now throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up
    Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) You ain't ready for it, bitch
    Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up! Throw it up
    You ain't ready for it, bitch

    I already got, two cars in the yard that don't run
    So why would I wanna break shit down for you?
    Better me confuse with the punchlines and bars that I launch
    Here the king of archery come, with a cracker dick
    To fuck you in that pussy carpet you munch
    If I'm not hardly the one, you must be barely the one billionth
    Really you kiddin', bitch I'm the prodigal son
    And I'm stuntin' like my daddy, d-dr-d-drinkin' like my mama
    C-C-country like my uncles, stutterin' like a CD in a donk
    Bump, bump, bump, bump
    And I'm in a blue Chevy, runnin' over motherfuckers in first
    I ain't even shift gears yet, I ain't even here yet, I'm outta this Earth
    Right? (Yeah ho!) But I just hit the surface
    And I'm 'bout to walk into a bank with a shank and a black can of paint to check the clerk
    (Where the keys?) Bitch you better take your purse! I got a brick of herb
    And I hit the syrup, and I'm feeling like I might just hit the curb
    So get the fuck outta my way buddy you don't wanna walk around the chicken house
    With a heart of a puppy dog with Yelawolf and Eminem, shit,
    Sufferin' succotash, yeah, suck a dick, bitch

    I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit
    Get the fuck from round' here, you don't rep my shit
    You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
    You want that drama, you ain't ready for it, bitch
    Now throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up
    Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) You ain't ready for it, bitch
    Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up! Throw it up
    You ain't ready for it, bitch

    Bitch please you don't wanna step up to this Misses
    G-A-N-G-S-T-A will make a nigga hit his knees when
    I'm up in the buildin', preach it to my children
    I don't be takin' no shit from you haters
    You'll make me hurt one of your feelings
    (Ha ha ha), Nah nah ni nah nah
    Pick your face up off the floor, I got you feelin' sad now
    You be on that Hokey Wag, Hokey Wag is bullshit
    Run into this gangsta, have your preacher at pull pit
    Bitch, I was born on the Mississippi River
    Take no shit from a bitch or a nigga
    So so crazy gotta fucked up temper
    Bi-pola', not Nicki, I'm worser, I'll hurt ya
    Ha ha, I got a crazy ass mind game
    Ma nigga, I'm a lion, untamed
    Hunt ya ass down in my jungle, I do this
    I tell them hoes, "You ain't ready for it bitch"

    I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' shit
    Get the fuck from round' here, you don't rep my shit
    You ain't from my city, you don't know about this
    You want that drama, you ain't ready for it, bitch
    Now throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up
    Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) You ain't ready for it, bitch
    Throw it up! (Yeah, ho) Throw it up! Throw it up
    You ain't ready for it, bitch

    I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin'

    Me and Yelawolf, tear the roof, off this motherfucker
    You ain't got the umph, you're a hoof, to the foot of an elephant
    Hello toots, you look so eloquent, that's what I tell a cunt
    Come sit up front cause you're kickin' my seat
    And I'm tryin' to the tell the cashier what I want
    They say I act like an asshole, when I pull up at the White Castle
    And I ask for an appli-cation, throw it back in her face an'
    Tell the bitch I'm a rapper, then I wack her
    In the head with a Whopper that I bought from BK
    You expect me to be proper?
    Bitch you better pop in a CD of me immediately, slut, ho Skidda dee da da
    Prada? Not a chance, I was thinkin' about buyin' you some clothes
    But Target was closed so I decided to mosey on over to K-Mart, but the doors
    Was locked, what about some shoes I thought, great I suppose
    So I go to Payless but what'dya know, they didn't carry a size eight in hoes
    Oh! This is ugly boy swag, puttin' toe tags on you motherfuckin' ho bags
    What a trailer trash pioneer, I am here, that's why I'm here
    I don't got a rhyme book it's more like a motherfuckin' diary of diarrhea
    Me, Yelawolf and Gangsta Boo came here to show you a thing or two
    'Bout sign language, middle fingers aimed at you
    So we don't gotta scream at you
    Ow! I just bit my bottom lip, it was an accident
    I went to go tell 'em all to go get bucked
    But I'm never gonna bite my tongue, little bitch throw it up

    I see you bitches talkin' loud, but you ain't sayin' Writer/s: Lola Chantrelle Mitchell, Luis Edgardo Resto, Marshall B. Mathers III, Michael Wayne Atha, William Booker Washington
    Publisher: Audiam, Inc., BMG Rights Management, ME GUSTA MUSIC, THE MEZZO AGENCY, LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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