The Whoop lyrics

by

Busta Rhymes


[Hook (shortened)-Busta Rhymes]
All my n*ggas all my b*tches
Get high, get drunk get wild blunt fool
You know my style, get crunk
b*tches bounce n*ggas bounce
And let me give you that funk sh*t blunt sh*t

[Verse 1-Ras Kass]
I spit that, super ugly, take over ether
Talk from my urethra and p*ss out the speaker
Beef c*cking the heater, meet greet and defeat ya
The glitch in the matrix busting’ nuts on (zeta?)
Add insult to injury when I see ya
Like Ike buying his ex-wife Tina
White wife-beaters, YNV the Louie Vuitton stripes on my Kobe to Adidas
Red wine and Vicodin and break your motherf*cking FEMA
Team of, the future, Golden State, NWA 2K Trey, hold-up wait
We bubble two if we f*cking wit you, blow that eight
Just fifty get with me b*tch hit me like boo
Just stick me, slick risky but true
Keep my money on my mind (mind)
My mind on my grind
My grind on my nine I put that on my mama
It gotta, Rock in the ring (bigger than what)
Bigger than WWE Smackdown
So f*ck karat’s (carrots) chain got rabbits
Same bad habits
Aim to live lavish so back down
[Hook-Busta Rhymes]
All my n*ggas all my b*tches
Get high, get drunk get wild blunt fool
You know my style, get crunk
b*tches bounce n*ggas bounce
And let me give you that funk sh*t blunt sh*t
While a n*gga bang outcha trunk

[Bridge 1-Dina Rae]
Street-slang ought to talk a lotta
Tell police sirens and coppers
Club pack cause the beat is hotter
If you go real deep than Imma

[Verse 2-Ras Kass]
Bid your whole, over style
So what you know about
Pass the Courvoisier, Busta show me how
Canary-yellow diamond, the Goldyn Chyld
b*tch play like a jock strap on hard di*ks and hold me down
Pound-for-pound, I spit rounds the sickest (gold pound)
In case foes forget whose artwork is the quickest
‘Cause when I draw, huh, ain’t to paint the town red
I’m too sexy to be dead
‘Bout to sell a couple million units
Host MTV, renegotiate for 1.3
Put the babies through college
Then expose how many of you so-called rap stars is garbage
And that’s logic, Doc Dre got us
Grow some more than movies about spiders, Jedis, and hobbits
Hip-hop’s hottest
Can’t front, I’m not as modest
But promise, to spread over this bread like Blue Bonnet (holla)
[Hook]

[Bridge 2-Dina Rae]
Nothing but the heat and put it (RK: hop in ya)
Strictly for the street and put it

[Interlude-Ras Kass]
Out the cut
Doc Dre
Ras Kass
Bus-A-Buss
(BR: All my b*tches)
Dr. Dre-“Whoopty Whoop, n*gga what”

[Verse 3-Ras Kass]
I walk on mouse traps just for the cheese
Can’t f*ck with a chick 'less you giving her three bees
Back-rubs, blow jobs, and breakfast in bed
But rather Bill Gates and get breaded instead
Fly n*gga, vocally, he ain't as dope as me
My sh*t don’t stank, b*tch please, I p*ss popery
You know how it supposed to be, in your City high
Rubbing the thighs of Claudette Ortiz

[Bridge 1]
[Hook (2X)]
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