Cookout with hoodrats and fried chicken and Crisco After dinner, girls come over in lingerie Bake sugar cookies and ginger snaps from Nabisco Even nighttime, we bust a night rhyme
's transsexual Lesbians dance with the funky heterosexual You on the mic, and when you rhyme, I start to jerk off Let my dog lick you, German Shepard want to bust
Reign, pop a top like champagne Stay claim, thirty thirty cop a kid, in Ro' Range It's all real, ain't nuthin sugar about the steel will Amuse we toke
night what, it must be Angie on the mic The Butter P honey got the sugar got the spice Roll the L's tight, keep the rhymes right Yo I just made this
intention that we have is vast You sick, drink a NyQuil, well, I'm dead on your Oh well, then here comes the gelatin Tips on some sugars but you yap
Groovy, groovy jazzy funky pounce bounce dance as we Dip in the melodic sea, the rhythm keeps flowin', it drips to MC Sweet sugar, pop sugar, pop rocks
the hip then I hit you with the hop millennium funk I got this game on lock I take four MCs put em all in a line four wannabes who think they can rhyme
ass, I'm a striver I'll use my dick to fight a war an' there won't be no survivor Call me the Nine Point Fiver 'Cause I'm the sugar dick, The Sugar Dick
give this brew to you I'm gonna pour some out for my man pee-wee (Pee-wee) And do what you gotta do, all right black, bust it I'm the sugar dick daddy
her throat action with a passion Love in her mouth for dental satisfaction That means I hit the head like Greg Louganis then I'm splashin' Ugh, bust
Verse 1-(Silkk) AHHHHHH! I kicks it off, nigga what rhyme wit no fuckin problem, down wit them drama boys, an also Eightball, understand I gotta plan
me rock the place {ebony mc} We be waiting, playing, anticipation The next new rhyme that I be creating For '89 I decided to fix, my rhymes To make them
on the low, with the funk for your town Down on the floor now, let me see you move This time tonight, now it's time to groove Who got the champion, sound understand Rhyme for rhyme
You don't know how we do things Shut the door and don't fuckin say shit I'ma bust you, gimme that fuckin wrench You shut the fuck up I'm gonna crack this
woodwork Ridin my meat, tryin to critique my physique A real nigga wouldn't even mention my lips Can't believe you went there, no I know you a bitch Sugar
in holster girl Dark skinned, Christian Dior poster girl Mo' rockin Timbs bitch and the Gucci loafers girl Niggaz say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this
shit. And all my raps they be true shit, but sometimes I loose shit. Be in the world of my own, s Tressing bout this sugar shit ready to bust me a dome
parties apart Here comes Shaheed with the big green shark Never had to rhyme about feelin' what with lead Never mind dat mon here come de dread We comin' far, far, far Busta Rhymes