Chicken Huntin' - Lyrics - The Ringmaster - Insane Clown Posse

Title: Chicken Huntin'
Album: The Ringmaster
Artist: Insane Clown Posse
Composer(s): Joseph Bruce, Mike E. Clark, H Dodd, David Greenberg, Icp Marc Niles

Lyric:
Where's that motherfucker at man? Damn, been about 10 days man
Hey, hey man, over here man
Yeah, what can I do for you, boy?
Yeah man, uh, lemme get one of those chicken necks
What?

Chicken neck, man, a red ass chicken neck
A red what? Neck chicken, what?
Red ass chicken neck like your's man
Like mine?
Yeah, bitch

Well, I'm heading down a southern trail
I'm going chicken huntin'
Chopping redneck chicken necks, I ain't saying nothing
To the hillbilly stuck my barrel in his eye

Boom shacka boom shacka hair jumps in the sky
Why I never liked chicken pot pie?
Or the chopped chicken on rye?
So, tell Mr. Billy Bob I'm a cut his neck up

Slice, poke, chop chop, stab, cut
What can you do with a drunken hillbilly?
Cut his fucking eyes out and feed them to his Aunt Milly
Willy Willy chicken neck, chicken hunting gotta love it

Hit him with the twelve gauge bucket, chicken nuggets
Laid out all over the grass
Then his little hound dog will eat them up fast
Last as long as you can my man
'Cause when that chicken head hits the fan, you got

Blood, guts, fingers and toes
Blood, guts, fingers and toes
Blood, guts, fingers and toes
Sitting front row at the chicken show so

Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfucking chicken up, right

Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfucking chicken up, right

Let me get a chicken sandwich with Manwich
I'm finna wreck on a chicken neck
Chopping up Hilly and Billy Bob Billy
'Cause I chop motherfucking rednecks silly

Peeked in his yard tell me what did I see
I seen a chicken boy fucking a sheep
I say, "Mister mister, what the fuck you trying to do?"
Ah, bibbity bobbity boo

Barrels in your mouth, bullets in your head
The back of your neck's all over the shed
Boom shacka boom chop chop bang
I'm 2 Dope and it ain't no thang

To cut a chicken, trigger's clicking
Blow off his head but his feet still kicking
Last as long as you can my man
'Cause when that chicken head hits the fan there's

Blood, guts, fingers and toes
Blood, guts, fingers and toes
Blood, guts, fingers and toes
Sittin' front row at the chicken show so

Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfucking chicken up, right

Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfucking chicken up, right

Went to Kentucky, I got lucky
Met this hog callin' bitch named Bucky
Riding on a chicken, milking a sow
Hittin' switches in a drop top low ride tractor plow

Redneck fella, moonshine sella
Hang him by his neck bone, chicken bones
Locked in the cellar, yellow belly chicken plucker
You redneck fucker

Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Who's going chicken huntin'? We's going chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfucking chicken up, right

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64e81039f6661bbb836224ea513e4e32

Chicken Hunting - Lyrics - Insane Clown Posse

Title: Chicken Hunting
Artist: Insane Clown Posse
Composer(s): Leo Nocentelli, George Porter, Joseph Bruce, Mike Clarke, Joseph Modeliste, Arthur Neville

Lyric:
Well, I'm headin' down a southern trail
I'm goin' chicken huntin'
Choppin' redneck chicken necks, I ain't sayin' nothin'
To the hillbilly, stick my barrel in his eye
Boomshacka boomshacka, hair jumps in the sky

Why I never liked Chicken Pot Pie
Or the Chopped Chicken on Rye?
Tell Mr. Billy Bob, I'm a cut his neck up
Slice, poke, chop, chop, stab, cut

What can you do with the drunken hillbilly?
Cut his fuckin' eyes out, feed him to his Aunt Milly
Willy, Willy, chicken neck, chicken huntin', gotta love it
Hit him with the twelve gauge bucket, chicken nuggets

Laid out all over the grass
Then his little hound dog will eat him up fast
Last as long as you can, my man
'Coz when that chicken head hits the fan

You got blood, guts, fingers an' toes
Blood, guts, fingers an' toes
Blood, guts, fingers an' toes
Sittin' front row at the Chicken Show, so

Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'
Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'

Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfuckin' chicken up, right

Let me get a chicken sandwich with manwich
I'm finna wreck on a chicken neck
Choppin' up Hilly an' Billy Bob Billy
'Coz I chop motherfuckin' redneck silly

Peeked in the yard an' what did I see
I seen a chicken boy fuckin' a sheep
I say, "Mister Mister, what the fuck you tryin' to do?"
[Incomprehensible]

Barrels in your mouth, bullets to your head
The back of your neck's all over the shed
Boomshacka boom, chop, chop, bang
I'm 2 Dope an' it ain't no thang

To cut a chicken, trigger's clickin'
Blow off his head but his feet still kickin'
Last as long as you can, my man
'Coz when that chicken head hits the fan

You got blood, guts, fingers an' toes
Blood, guts, fingers an' toes
Blood, guts, fingers an' toes
Sittin' front row at the Chicken Show, so

Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'
Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'

Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfuckin' chicken up, right

I went to Kentucky, I got lucky
Met this hot collared bitch named Bucky
Ridin' on a chicken, milkin' a cow
Hittin' switches in a drop top low ride tractor plow

Redneck fella, moonshine sella
Hang him by his neck bones, chicken bones
Locked in the cellar, yellow belly chicken plucker
You redneck fucker

Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'
Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'

Who's goin' chicken huntin'?
We's goin' chicken huntin'
Cut a motherfuckin' chicken up, right
Bitch, yeah

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a199832c1bd811a26a0251a917c63444

Left &Amp; Right - Lyrics - Voodoo - D'Angelo

Title: Left &Amp; Right
Album: Voodoo
Artist: D'Angelo
Composer(s): Kamaal Ibn John Fareed, Clifford Smith, Michael Archer, Reggie Noble

Lyric:
Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo

My flows remarkable, Doc walk like Kane
From Kung Fu 'round the globe
Throw obstacles, I'll hurdle them
Herb and whack MC's
Drum racks to the rims, to the caps

Yo Meth, Tical and D, I'm ASAP
I'm crack a don chicken hunting at KFC
In '83, I was that scrub TLC talking 'bout
Now I rock the house, chalk 'em out

Yeah, no doubt who gots the biggest ass in the house?
Young miss fillet a fish, salt water trout
Pretty young thing got a tongue ring and dirty mouth
And she whispering them sweet nothings
I hear it out, I hear it out

Baby you got me like Joni had Cha Chi
Until she got high and went and fucked Potsi
Lady Godiva, from day one a dick rider
Liar, liar set your pussy on fire

I see you dancing right now
I don't need to tell you that you know how
Baby, you do, I say you belong
And if you dream, you'd be free
I can take you there just follow me
Baby I won't, I won't steer you wrong

And it seems like to me
You want someone to treat you like their queen
Babe, I do, so what'cha want?
Smack your ass, pull your hair
And I even kiss you way down there
You know, I will, think I won't?

That's the way we do it, left and right
Keep it moving, up and down
How we do it, babe, left and right
Keep it moving, up and down

So what'cha doing? Left and right
I love it went you do it, up and down
Love it went you do it left and right
Keep doing it babe, yeah

Left and right and up and down
Hey yo, D how we do it
Left and right and up and down
Yo D, how we do it

Left and right and up and down
Funk Doc, how we do it
Left and right and up and down
Yo Stallion, this is how we do it

Yeah, I hear you calling my world
Make you feel like a pearl
I'll rub your back and fulfill your needs
So I would suggest you get undressed
Fingertips touching and you'll come back
As I want, why don't you give it to me?

I will have you believe
There's no reason for you to leave
Stay right here, stay right here
In my arms, in my arms

Bring you fears stay secure
Here with me you can be sure
There's no faking, you turn me on
That's the way we do it

Left and right, up and down
You keep it moving
Left and right, up and down
Yeah, she's moving, oh yeah

Left and right, up and down
Love it when you do it
Don't stop, left and right
Just keep doing it, baby

Left and right and up and down
Hey yo, D, how we do it
Left and Right and up and down
Yo D, how we do it

Left and Right and up and down
Funk Doc how we do it
Left and Right and up and down
Yo Stallion, this is how we do it

Why don't you know?
The sexy little things you do
The sexy little things you do
Why don't you know?
The sexy little things you do

Yo Doc, be off the wall, we keep a Marley cheap
Pulling a Harley deep with a jar of grease
Come 151, straight endo, the spot
I fuck brown sugar behind the fiber glass window
It's Doc, pack guns, don't sling weight
The only thing I sling is condoms for spring break

Fuck 'em, how we do it?
Leave 'em, how we do it?
Get the money, the pussy
The weed, now do it

Now take your coat off and stay a while
Now honey child, if you're gon' be acting funny style
Then I don't need ya
It's Saturday, this night fever

Shit is popping, Acheeva my mouth cotton
Tis the season for draws dropping and heavy breathing
You ain't skeezin', you dick teasin', I'm leavin'
Acting rotten, I got no time for games, I'm no joke
Drop that ass when I'm finished and watch it smoke
Yeah, yeah, yeah

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00d1f32a06fe2609d9a05d31f30f5eb0

Soul Food (Remix) - Lyrics - Goodie Mob

Title: Soul Food (Remix)
Artist: Goodie Mob
Composer(s): Raymon Murray, Brandon K Bennett, Thomas Decarlo Burton, Willie Edward Knighton, Patrick Brown, Cameron F Gipp, Rico Wade, Robert Terrance Barnett

Lyric:
My old boy from the point but I'm from Southwest
And every now and then I get put to the test
But I can't be stopped 'cause I gotta come true
Ain't got no gun but I got my crew

Didn't come for no beef 'cause I don't eat steak
I got a plate of soul food chicken, rice and gravy
Not covered in too much, drinking a cup of punch
Tropical every last Thursday of the month

Daddy put tha hot grits on my chest in tha morning
When I was sick Mary had tha hot soup boiling
Didn't know why but it felt so good
Like some waffles in the morning headed back to tha woods

Now I'm full as tick got some soul on blast in tha cassette
Food for my brain I haven't stopped learning yet
Hot wings from Mo-Joes got my forehead sweating
Celery and blue cheese on my menu next

Southern Fry won't allow my body to lie still
Tied face goons surround me like cancer drill
Me with second-hand obstacles but
Only to make matters worse
Plus I'm getting pimped by this temp lady Jackie
From Optima staffing niggas laughing
Shut up clown don't talk to me like that looking stupid of course
Living day by day and you ain't hard, trick hell you say

It's such a blessing when my eyes get to see the sun rise
I'm ready to begin
Another chance to get further away from where I've been
But I'll never forget
Everythang I went through I appreciate the shit because
If I had went and took the easy way
I wouldn't be the strong nigga that I am today
Everythang that I did, different thangs I was told
Just ended up being food for my soul

Come and get yo' soul food, well well
Good old-fashioned soul food, all right
Everythang is for free
As good as it can be
Come and get some soul food

Sunday morning where you eating at?
I'm on 1365 Wichita Drive, ol' bird working the stove ride
Churches dripping chicken in yesterday's grease
Didn't go together with this quart of Mickey's
Last night hanging over from a good time, yeah beef is cheaper
But it's pumped with red dye between two pieces of bread
Shawty look good with dem hairy legs
Wish I could cut her up but, ma stomach come before sex
A house full of hoes now what's the ingredient
Spaghetti plus her monthly flow

They know they making it hard on the yard
Fuck Chris Darden, fuck Marsha Clark
Taking us when we're in the spotlight for a joke
Changing by the day I see it's getting bigga in my square
Looking at Lenox from the outside with a stare no money to go inside
Tameka and Tiffany outside tripping
And skipping rope to the beats from my jeep
As I speak wuz up from the driver seat

A heaping helping of fried chicken
Macaroni and cheese and collar greens too big for my jeans
Smoke steams from under the lid that's on the pot
Ain't never had a lot but thankful for the little that I got
Why not be fast food got me feeling sick
Them crackers think they sick
By trying to make this bullshit affordable
I thank the Lord that my voice was recordable

Come and get yo' soul food, well well

Hold up C it's what I write and Miss Lady acting like we in jail
Says she ain't got no extra hush puppies to sell
Bankhead seafood making me hit that door
With a mind full of attitude it was a line at tha beautiful
JJ's Ribshack was packed too
Looking to be one of dem days when Momma ain't cooking
Everybody's out hunting with tha family looking for a little soul food

Come and get yo' soul food, well well
Good old-fashioned soul food, all right
Everythang is for free
As good as it can be
Come and get some soul food

Come and get yo' soul food, well well
Good old-fashioned soul food, all right
Everythang is for free

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3605541dc1f1cc9d06a72684a41da848

Soul Food - Lyrics - Dirty South Classics - Goodie Mob

Title: Soul Food
Album: Dirty South Classics
Artist: Goodie Mob
Composer(s): Raymon Murray, Brandon K Bennett, Thomas Decarlo Burton, Willie Edward Knighton, Patrick Brown, Cameron F Gipp, Rico Wade, Robert Terrance Barnett

Lyric:
My old boy from the point but I'm from Southwest
And every now and then I get put to the test
But I can't be stopped 'cause I gotta come true
Ain't got no gun but I got my crew

Didn't come for no beef 'cause I don't eat steak
I got a plate of soul food chicken, rice and gravy
Not covered in too much, drinking a cup of punch
Tropical every last Thursday of the month

Daddy put tha hot grits on my chest in tha morning
When I was sick Mary had tha hot soup boiling
Didn't know why but it felt so good
Like some waffles in the morning headed back to tha woods

Now I'm full as tick got some soul on blast in tha cassette
Food for my brain I haven't stopped learning yet
Hot wings from Mo-Joes got my forehead sweating
Celery and blue cheese on my menu next

Southern Fry won't allow my body to lie still
Tied face goons surround me like cancer drill
Me with second-hand obstacles but
Only to make matters worse
Plus I'm getting pimped by this temp lady Jackie
From Optima staffing niggas laughing
Shut up clown don't talk to me like that looking stupid of course
Living day by day and you ain't hard, trick hell you say

It's such a blessing when my eyes get to see the sun rise
I'm ready to begin
Another chance to get further away from where I've been
But I'll never forget
Everythang I went through I appreciate the shit because
If I had went and took the easy way
I wouldn't be the strong nigga that I am today
Everythang that I did, different thangs I was told
Just ended up being food for my soul

Come and get yo' soul food, well well
Good old-fashioned soul food, all right
Everythang is for free
As good as it can be
Come and get some soul food

Sunday morning where you eating at?
I'm on 1365 Wichita Drive, ol' bird working the stove ride
Churches dripping chicken in yesterday's grease
Didn't go together with this quart of Mickey's
Last night hanging over from a good time, yeah beef is cheaper
But it's pumped with red dye between two pieces of bread
Shawty look good with dem hairy legs
Wish I could cut her up but, ma stomach come before sex
A house full of hoes now what's the ingredient
Spaghetti plus her monthly flow

They know they making it hard on the yard
Fuck Chris Darden, fuck Marsha Clark
Taking us when we're in the spotlight for a joke
Changing by the day I see it's getting bigga in my square
Looking at Lenox from the outside with a stare no money to go inside
Tameka and Tiffany outside tripping
And skipping rope to the beats from my jeep
As I speak wuz up from the driver seat

A heaping helping of fried chicken
Macaroni and cheese and collar greens too big for my jeans
Smoke steams from under the lid that's on the pot
Ain't never had a lot but thankful for the little that I got
Why not be fast food got me feeling sick
Them crackers think they sick
By trying to make this bullshit affordable
I thank the Lord that my voice was recordable

Come and get yo' soul food, well well

Hold up C it's what I write and Miss Lady acting like we in jail
Says she ain't got no extra hush puppies to sell
Bankhead seafood making me hit that door
With a mind full of attitude it was a line at tha beautiful
JJ's Ribshack was packed too
Looking to be one of dem days when Momma ain't cooking
Everybody's out hunting with tha family looking for a little soul food

Come and get yo' soul food, well well
Good old-fashioned soul food, all right
Everythang is for free
As good as it can be
Come and get some soul food

Come and get yo' soul food, well well
Good old-fashioned soul food, all right
Everythang is for free

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649db026d9770c95582cf588b23bc5e8

Go Wild In The Country - Lyrics - See Jungle! See Jungle! Go Join Your Gang, Yeah, City All Over! Go Ape Crazy! - Bow Wow Wow

Title: Go Wild In The Country
Album: See Jungle! See Jungle! Go Join Your Gang, Yeah, City All Over! Go Ape Crazy!
Artist: Bow Wow Wow
Composer(s): Matthew Ashman, Leigh Gorman, Dave Barbarossa, Malcolm Mclaren

Lyric:
I don't like you, I don't like your town
I don't wanna like you, I'll shop around
I don't want you, I don't want your town
I don't wanna want you, I'll shop around, I'll shop around

I can get a tray, I don't need no hamburgers
No take away, I want my own game
No bacon steak, no strawberry milkshake, I wanna picnic
I'm sick, sick of things sized to be working down these lonely streets

I don't know you, I don't know your town
I don't wanna know you, I'll shop around, I'll shop around
I can get a tray, I don't need no hamburgers
No take away, I want my own game
No bacon steak, no strawberry milkshake

I do better, hell, I do better
Sweet from the trees, naked in the breeze
But I got no boiled chicken
I wanna go hunting and fishing

(Wild, go wild)
Go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free
(Wild, go wild)
Go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free
(Wild)

I can get a plane, I don't need no suitcases
'Cause truth loves to go naked
(Wild, go wild)
Go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free
(Wild, go wild)
Go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free
(Wild)

I wanna picnic
'Cause I get sick
Got no boiled chicken
I wanna go hunting and fishing

(Go wild, go wild)
Go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free
(Go wild, go wild)
Go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free
(Wild)
I can get a tray, don't need no hamburgers
No take away, 'cause I want my own game

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300fe383dabc775fd763a5c467e0ad52

My Kind Of Country - Lyrics - Van Zant

Title: My Kind Of Country
Artist: Van Zant
Composer(s): Blair Daly, Donnie Van Zant, Johnny Van Zant, Tom Hambridge

Lyric:
I like to speak my mind
Say grace at supper time
I?m just a dot on the map

Ain?t scared to take a stand
For this little piece of land
Don?t make me take you out back

Tattoos, sweet tea, NASCAR Sunday
Hard hat, head back to work on Monday

My kind of country
Little League, bass boats and good clean fun
That?s my kind of country
Roots run deep as they come
In my kind of country

I?m from the old school
Live by the golden rule
Ain?t no strangers around here

I like the simple life
Sit a spell, have a bite
Honey, get that man a beer

Cornbread, collard greens, mama?s fried chicken
Blue jeans, work boots, I'm still kicking

My kind of country
Football, four-wheeling, good clean fun
That?s my kind of country
Roots run deep as they come
In my kind of country, yeah, that's my kind of country

We got Johnny Cash, Back in Black, Southern rock ?n' roll
.38, Skynyrd, turn up that radio

My kind of country
Camouflage, hunting dogs, good clean fun
That?s my kind of country
Roots run deep as they come

My kind of country
Backyard barbecue, get you some
That?s my kind of country
Roots run deep as they come
In my kind of country

Pick up trucks and dirt roads
Ah, the fourth of July, salute the flag
Yeah, my kind of country
That, that, that?s my kind of country

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75212c1796df44841e704b7c8aa7f160

Pork And Beef - Lyrics - The Coup

Title: Pork And Beef
Artist: The Coup
Composer(s): Raymond Lawrence Riley

Lyric:
Coup, yeah
It's all good man, we off in the Oakland Hills
Dodging em' one time, check it out

If you got beef with C-O-P's
Throw a Molotov at the P-I-G's
Cause they be harassing you and me
Ya gotta understand we still not free

If you got beef with C-O-P's
Throw a Molotov at the P-I-G's
Cause they be harassing you and me
Ya gotta understand we still not free

Don't trust the police, no justice no peace
They got me face down, in the middle of the street
Pistol whip me with the heat, chicken shits sizzling
Trying to serve me the all-you-can eat murder beef
I'm a young, black, heterosexual male
Don't drink no drank, don't smoke, don't sale
That's the real reason that they want me up in jail
They want me to fail, I resist and rebel
See I give a fuck about the C-O-P's
P-I-G's I wonder if I can shake em' like a P-I-T
Cause they wanna see me D-I-E
Got me cash under mob, I'm a pre-O.G
Dark Sobe associates, vicious, venomous vocalist
Chrome 4-4 toting, holding it down for Oakland
Folks do be smoking and shit we do what we holding
Some just don't notice they get demoted
Throw em' all the time music

If you got beef with C-O-P's
Throw a Molotov at the P-I-G's
Cause they be harassing you and me
Ya gotta understand we still not free

If you got beef with C-O-P's
Throw a Molotov at the P-I-G's
Cause they be harassing you and me
Ya gotta understand we still not free

This is for them ladies with them empty plates
For that raise ripped that you didn't calculate
If you ever in your life been awarded to state
On the corner with cake
If they send an undercover and you tip the bag, huh
Next time I see em' with no hesitation
I'm peeling off like stolen registration
And leave a lot of smoke
See I'm that sort of folk
That been pig hunting since my mama's fucking water broke
Cause they the henchmen nah they the lenchmen
Between the rich and puffs of weed known to trench them
Cause they dispense with the dollars and cents
So when you stand go get candles, flowers, and incense
Behind steel gates is fifty percent of our bill rates
A pre-kin making microchips for Bill Gates
Pelican Bay, t-shirts for the workout
Police station where the slave catchers lurk out
Listen to the thunder, I'm no more taking under routes
We'll synchronize and give em' shit to wonder bout
The DEA is filthy, yell not guilty
We need control of the cash and the realty
And get rid of all the motherfucking parasites
More than weed burn at 420 Fahrenheit
Shaking in they boots when we start to bust
They ain't scared of rap music, they scared of us

If you got beef with C-O-P's
Throw a Molotov at the P-I-G's
Cause they be harassing you and me
Ya gotta understand we still not free

If you got beef with C-O-P's
Throw a Molotov at the P-I-G's
Cause they be harassing you and me
Ya gotta understand we still not free

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1c9141808e6bae1733052f37e0d84a3a