Violent lyrics

by

Too $hort


[Intro: Too $hort]
Ay, F.A.B., mayne, what’s going on out here, n*gga?
n*ggas out here robbing n*ggas
Running up on n*ggas, knocking n*ggas down, n*gga
n*ggas is not taking no sh*t out here in the Bay, mayne
It’s like real muthaf*ckin’ crazy right now, n*gga
Rap n*ggas, street n*ggas, square n*ggas
n*ggas is getting real out here
What’s going on here, F.A.B.?

[Chorus: Mistah F.A.B.]
I said this drink in my cup got feeling violent
This pill that I popped got me feeling violent
This thang on my hip got me feeling violent
(“Hi, kids, do you like violence?”)
Your b*tch kinda wet, looking like an island
She on something, I can see her eyelids
Keak tryna tell me ‘bout some sh*t that I did
I’m getting juiced and I’m feeling violent

[Verse 1: Mistah F.A.B.]
n*gga, I don’t give a f*ck ‘bout getting kicked out this club
Every n*gga that I’m with ‘bout to turn the f*ck up
C.T. on the beat, man, you know that sh*t slap
That’s your freak on the beat ‘bout to make her ass clap
Give a f*ck he gets mad—pus*y n*gga, do something
You a sucka, you a sissy, you ain’t ‘bout to nothing
You a Cookie, I’m a Lucious; Eazy-E, b*tch, I’m Ruthless
We go stupid like it’s still ’06, you a doofus, b*tch, you’re useless
After I f*ck, man, I call that b*tch a Uber
I’ll slide on your squad like a kid on a scooter
And your b*tch on my di*k from the rooter to the tooter
You an Internet thug, you only hard on a computer
f*ck your b*tch then I boot her, bust one on her hooters
Leave her in the Boondocks, Aaron McGruder
Shrunk up like a tutor, act like I never knew her
I leave a punk b*tch on ice like a cooler
[Chorus: Mistah F.A.B.]
I said this drink in my cup got feeling violent
This pill that I popped got me feeling violent
This thang on my hip got me feeling violent
(“Hi, kids, do you like violence?”)
Your b*tch kinda wet, looking like an island
She on something, I can see her eyelids
Keak tryna tell me ‘bout some sh*t that I did
I’m getting juiced and I’m feeling violent

[Verse 2: Mistah F.A.B.]
Security better go on somewhere, ‘f*ck you mean ain’t no hats?’
b*tch, I already bought a table, and it cost me two racks
Better have my bottles right, and the chasers on point
Got some ‘woods rolled up, got some papers for a joint
f*ck them freeloading b*tches—they ain’t chip in, they ain’t sippin’
$hort, go on with all that cool sh*t, talkin’ ’bout I’m trippin’
Muthaf*ckin’ right I’m trippin’, they done charged me some bands
So if a b*tch wanna sip, I bet she comin’ out her pants
b*tch better dance, f*ck a groupie and a stan
“Get away from me, blood! I don’t want no pictures with no man!
All these hoes up in here, and you tryna take a flick?
Better knock you a b*tch and get the f*ck off my di*k!”
Crack a n*gga in his head with a champagne bottle
Little Brodie keep a .40 and that .40 filled with hollows
We gon’ kick this b*tch off, we startin’ a riot
You know them Oakland n*ggas crazy, b*tch, we violent
[Chorus: Mistah F.A.B.]
I said this drink in my cup got feeling violent
This pill that I popped got me feeling violent
This thang on my hip got me feeling violent
(“Hi, kids, do you like violence?”)
Your b*tch kinda wet, looking like an island
She on something, I can see her eyelids
Keak tryna tell me ‘bout some sh*t that I did
I’m getting juiced and I’m feeling violent

[Outro: Too $hort]
Get the f*ck out my face, punk b*tch
Get the f*ck out my space, broke n*gga
Get the f*ck out my face, punk b*tch
I don’t wanna talk to no n*ggas
Get the f*ck out my face, punk b*tch
Get the f*ck out my space, broke n*gga
Get the f*ck out my face, punk b*tch
I don’t wanna talk to no n*ggas, b*tch!

I’m from the Town; got my DJ in the house, DJ Slow Poke
He from the Rich—what’s up, Richmond?
What’s up, Frisco? What’s up, EPA?
What’s up, Berkeley? What’s up, Oakland? n*gga
We out here, mayne—I see you Vallejo, uh
Say something—we riding all the way to Sac tonight, mayne
What’s up with it, baby? f*ck wit’ it…
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