Correction Paroles Whether Or Not (Original Version) par D12

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Paroles

No one's ready to deal with us

Whether you rap or you don't rap
Duck 'fore you get rushed
Get stuck f**king with us
'Cause....
We don't give a f**k
(No one's ready to deal with us)

Oh, we sound like Em clones, huh?
Where the f**k you think he started at holmes, huh?
Skip the small talk, talking is a risk you take
Kick yo' face 'till yo' head go through this window and break
Break to the 1-9, Denaun cause the gun-line
And collect bank from every weed spot like I'm one time
I'm ain't the remorseful type, I'll drink and still drive prone to hit anything at any given night
F**k leaving my roots, I'm still in cahoots with nincompoops who shoot out like troops in Beirut
Pull up in a red hearse with Fred Durst dressed like a nurse
With a coach purse screaming his throat hurts

On my Harley Davidson, I ride down Main Street
I speed with my dad's name on my a** cheek
Gimme your ones and get robbed with a broken gun
Got you doing more dances than Puffy's son
All you groupies that wanna get took
You gotta be 12 years old with a coloring book
And anyone else who wanna get f**ked, 'cause
(Yeah b*t*h, oh sh*t!)
(No one's ready to deal with us)
Whether you rap or you don't rap
Duck 'fore you get rushed
Get stuck f**king with us
Cause....
We don't give a f**k
(No one's ready to deal with us)

We interrupt your little world of perfectness
To bring you the sh*t to murder conservatives with
To curse and diss, with verses so merciless
These words can just f**k up your high worse than this
{Police Sirens}
I've killed for less, and dumped bodies in the motherf**kin' wilderness
I'm a wildebeest, and I've concealed a piece even after I was busted by Warren Police
You think just because I got caught by these cops once
I'm not gonna carry shotguns to blow your wigs back like hamburgers without any top buns
So many damn murders I can't even count one
Two black guns, I don't know maybe they're Magnums
I don't know what the f**k they're called, I just grab them
12-gauge dumps in a drug-fueled rage, f**k age, still goin' through my "f**k-you" stage
I'm a 27-year-old eleven-year-old, I'mma never grow up, b*t*h, I ain't gon' ever get old
I'll be sitting here with a cane and a beard
Still insane and as weird as the day I came in here, brain in my rear, yeah
So until I'm wrinkled as Robert Van Winkle, I'mma drop a damn single every goddamn week, people
It's D12, June 19th, so do like me, and go buy three, with no ID
Kids
Now why you wanna play a game with me, dangerously
The outcome's hot, once split your brain in three
Proof with crooked raps, always ask them "What the f**k you lookin' at"?
And invite the hook to scrap
I gave my life to God, n***a, then I took it back
Move it black, this f**kin' gat'll leave your cookie cracked
Detroit's derelict arrogant terrorist, straight on you aerospit
Spit at various people to leave you with a body to get buried with
Every hit was serious, n***as wanna know how murderous the Dirty Harry is
When I'm on your front porch with guns about to bust
'Cause

Whether you rap or you don't rap
Duck 'fore you get rushed
Get stuck f**king with us
'Cause....
We don't give a f**k

When they run into Swift they change directions
My sh*t so tight when hoes hear it they catch a yeast infection
You need protection, you gon' fear it
I snatch away yo' DNA from existence, with no spirit
Give up the carats or see the nine
F**kin' with mine is like Farakhan chewin' up swine, on Christmas
With a white trailer b*t*h on his arm, chillin' in Europe, havin dinner with a Uncle Tom
I attack killin', f**kin' hoes like Matt Dillon
Stackin' obituaries higher than Michael Jackson's ceiling
I leaves nobody livin', I got Satan shiverin'
Hate what I'm deliverin', you know the best then send 'em in, crack you with a fifth of gin
You got your men, but they all wearin' skirts like them n***as from Scotland, you hoes are not grim
Don't make me stop in with a mag, and blow yo feet up out yo Top Tens
I'm the one they call in to torture ya
Smackin' your b*t*h and forcin' her in the back seat of an old Corcia
Kuniva's the silent type, but under the silence is a violent life, usually followed by sirens and lights
Get your throat cut by this tyrant's knife, from high as a kite
And my get-a-way driver's drivin' right
F**kin' with Hans will get you flipped like a baton, the deadliest bombs
Wrap around n***as like Camabons, you know I ain't nothin' to play with
Thinkin' you real like The Matrix, f**kin' with n***as drippin' off self-hatred
I'm on some live sh*t, rappers be on some "Ready To Die" sh*t
'Till I put a ice pick, right through they eyelids, f**k heaters, I'll knock you out instead of shootin'
I hit hard, break yo' f**kin' jaw like Resolution
Give up the cash and coat, or get your little brother's cla**room smoked
And the subst**ue gagged and choked
N***a

Whether you rap or you don't rap
Duck 'fore you get rushed
Get stuck f**king with us
'Cause....
We don't give a f**k

D12, June 19th
Do 'shrooms like me
Get ready for it
Trouble soon, baby
You know it
Tell your mama and your sister too
'Cause we f**kin' 'em

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