U Can’t Handle This lyrics

[mystikal talking]
You would if you could
But you can't
So you ain't

[mystikal]

The minute I step in dis b*tch
I hear Oh sh*t Mothaf*cka, God Damn!
Watch out there now young fella
You can't handle em
For a period of time
Noone can match those rhymes to mine
Im top of the line
Genuine, sharp like a porcupine
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass off balance you ain't no challenge!
This ain't no mothaf*ckin fluke, This pure d talent!
Im Gifted, Explicit mistressed and Explicit
Brand new album, same old n*gga
I ain't playin with you b*tches!
A lotta you n*ggas be rappin
Like your scared and unprepared
Im gonn have ya leave this mothaf*cka sayin Whatd that mothaf*cka said?
Gimme the bud, the weed I puff like elvis and the beetles
That gets blazed, then a couple soft MC's on pins and needles
n*ggas that got beef wit me
Better bring a heater
Or either bow down to me
Cut off you di*k, jesus
Thats the reason I don't f*ck wit n*ggas
Wasup wit dem n*ggas they talkin sh*t?
You better go f*ck wit anotha n*gga
You can't handle this!
[Chorus]
Oh sh*t, Motha f*cka! God Damn! x8

[mystikal]
Certified rhyme busta
b*tch n*gga, b*tch n*gga
Same n*gga, from "Not That n*gga"
But that n*gga from punks, still come with the rif raf
Went from gold teeth, to gold chains
I went from club chains, to Soul Train!
Fire like cayenne pepper
Like capone, hot stepper
Keep your f*ckin neck pecking, like a bad woodpecker
I dont like n*ggas tryin ta run up on my sh*t and set
Im the tarantula on the catipillar, b*tch ill kill ya
Catch more attention, then oriental peac*cks
Phat rhymes, Hot tracks, A full room of reebox
Ive got the gift thatll make a b*tch get off me
Spit like Charles Barkley
So b*tch Dont start me!
Whos that click?
Use to be mobbin in my hood
Beware! Here I go!
sh*t that boy good!
Come like, there I was
When were yall idiots in the cut?
Crazy Hacksaw Jim Dugan
Yall n*ggas dont want no troubles
[Chorus x8]

[mystikal]
I know ya'll n*ggas know better than to f*ck wit tha man
Dont ya (dont ya)?
n*gga dont you know what my style can't be poached
And every n*gga n they mama, probably got beef wit somebody
But ask that same n*gga for twenty dollars
I ain't got it (i ain't got it)
When underground rules, will be tha day
When them braids start to shaking
Another n*gga couldn't out roll me on skates!
Im the surprise
The gasoline on your fire, Got em dodging
Michael Tyler! The drunken fighter
Yall n*ggas can't do what I do!
(man f*ck that n*gga)
Naw Motherf*ck you!
Good lord, the rhymes come through so hardcore
b*tch I got it if you bad enuff to take it
Its yours!
A lyrical ass whoopin
Is what im cookin
Hungry, Spittin all over your room when you wasn't lookin
Ain't no canibus, the wrong n*gga with ta mess with
You get tha flatback like rambo b*tch
You can't handle this!
[Chorus till fade] (11 times)