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Текст (слова) песни: Mac Dre - Fish Head Stew

[Verse 1: Mac Dre]
I`m a hutch-peeler with much scrilla and I love to get high, homie
Shady character like Don King, so you better keep your eye on me
I done bust niggaz in the grill and had `em wearin partials
Jacked high rollers and ran from the US marshalls
It`s called survival and only the strong can survive
And went the distance with the feds while some of my partners took a dive
Strive to stay alive, can`t let no nigga smudder me
Got to stay f-r-double e and keep these bitches lovin me
Sippin bubbly, breakin down buds from a fat sack
Reservations at ( ? ) arts craft shack
I stacks fat cause a mackaroni gots to have cheese
( ? ) pillows and cigarillos and backwood leaves
And I drinks Hen by the gallon, so sometimes I might trip
Infrared beam with black talons and that extended clip
Quick to do some sprayin, so nigga, watch what you sayin
You`ll get your show cancelled like Keenan and Ivory Wayans

[Chorus]
I`m just a pimp, mane, tryin to stack some Francs
So I can have French maids pedicure my bunions
Oh, you ain`t knowin, what is you, new?
Yo hutch must be feedin you fish head stew

[Verse 2: Mac Dre]
Mac Dre shake broke hoes with bolos and kids
Tell a bitch she can take a long walk off a short bridge
And hope she land in shark-infested waters
Heartless, takin over turfs like Nino did to Corace
Kidnapped by the feds and treated like a sucker
But now I`m free they see payback`s a motherfucker
I`m sickenin, like dickin all they daughters and nieces
Now CO`s and PO`s want me restin in pieces
Gettin peace is so hard that it`ll make your nose bleed
And I been smokin since niggaz was on gold weed
Born to be a player, rhyme sayer and clock grits
Strapped with two 23 speedin chop sticks
Quick to kick a bitch to the curb
And get back with her on a 33rd
I never worry, never worry, it`s all copastetic
Got mo` game than needed insulin in a diabetic

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Mac Dre]
I be fitted, dipped in butter, hair cut like Kobe
Blindin `em with science like Thomas Dolby
Pullin on black MI, sippin top-shelf Cuevo
Playin with my hutch hair while she lickin on my navel
Stable full of money-makin stallions
Been in the feds with dreads from Jamaica and Italians
Shrimp scampi eater Peter Long []
Puffin purple cush at the building with my cousons
Strapped, armed, ready, ain`t nobody goosin me
Got ( ? ) where the airbags used to be
Boy, you should see how I act off the privilege
Hennessy is like Popeye`s spinach
I`m ready to take heads off, gunplay or fight
I dot eyes and have `em wearin they sunglasses at night
Fool, that`s real, that ain`t no frontin
Them punk-ass niggaz don`t wanna see Dre about nothin

 

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