Rapper Gone Bad - Mac Dre

I’m a young gifted and black mack, rap sweet like candied yams

And I make you put your fist up to your mouth and say, «Goddamn!»

Boy, I got heat, flame-o, pour like liquid Drano

Verbal volcano, they love me, 'cause they know

I’m cut from the cloth that real men are made of

Bitches get sprayed up with clips of this Bay love

Attackin you with vernacular, dialect and lingo

The Rapper Gone Bad, boy, peep the first single

Bounce and shake what your mammy gave you

It’s the Dre-pors, can you feel it?

Nothin can save you

From the dapper rapper who stay fitted like a mannequin

Hoes see me in the traffic and say, «Girl, there go that man again»

I’m fabulicious, game nutritious

Break bitches like dishes and drink like them fishes

Boy, put some of that Yukon Jack in the bag

And come fuck with yo' partner, the rapper gone bad

(Rapper gone bad)

(Ra-ra-ra-ra-rap)

(Rapper gone bad)

(Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad… rapper gone bad)

(Bad-meaning-bad)

(Bad, bad, bad… rapper gone bad)

I’m an old schooler like Grandmaster and the Five that was Furious

Got bitches goin delirious even though it ain’t that serious

You’re curious?

Well, listen to these lyricals

Them suckers tryin to knock this, it’s gonna take a miracle

I’m seasoned with the game that O.G.'s told me

Got laced like Luke did by Obi-Wan Kenobi

Or Yoda, hold a mic in my right hand

And when I’m sleep you know I keep a fat strap in my nightstand

That’s right, man, my hypeman is L-O-double T

Might see us after the show at the hotel DoubleTree

Cool, calm and collected, but sometimes I get mean

'Cause suckers sick of the scene like they Jack and I’m the Green

Giant, defiant, bitches get dealt with quick

Can’t be on this ball team unless you wanna help get grits

Let’s get rich, is what I tell em, sell 'em dreams like horoscopes

They try to fight the feeling, but it’s hard to ignore your folks

Mac D with the R connected to the E (me)

Might be at the bar drinkin' Hennessy

In between the sheets I’m a freak and a cold piece of work

My body over her body like Johnny, Keith and Levert

I’m a thug like 2Pac, born to mack like Too $hort

Smoke punks like Newports, get drunk off two quarts

Bendin' corners in somethin' ninety-new

Lookin' real ragooey on my way to see Chuy

Boy, I’m on the air gettin' heavy rotation

But I’m still a player with a Chevy on Daytons

I’m hi-po, and the five-o really can’t stand me

Got posse, Flowmasters, a shift kit in the tranny

Chirpin' every time I shift gears

In that 9−5 Impala with them gold-dipped gears

Put some of that 1−5-1 in the bag

Come fuck with yo partner, the rapper gone bad