6 Reasons

[Verse 1: Proof] They wish that they could bear me, black. D12 standing back No planning that. Def methods, we got a hand in that Whoever run this shit, you get a jammed knee cap Make the healthy kids in your fam handicapped You a fan of rap? My clan attack your school, home, your bitch house Pull my nine milli: you gon' die with your fist out I'm here in this; it's over with. Venomous as cobra spit Drunken dialect; we're aggressive sober, bitch My bionic fires demolish your [?] Demonic as tainted chronic. Impossible to hold down like vomit Mics, I palm it. Your state, I'll bomb it Like terrorists that's Islamic. I enter your atmosphere like a comet The new god of rap: call me 'Nigga Thor' Snap your back when I slap your ass in a figure-four From miles around they can feel it's lethal I make hardcore groups like Wu Tang look like the Village People No sequel. The general with the sinner style Abort your mind-state and kill your inner child [Verse 2: Bizarre] It's been a while since you bitch-niggas heard of me Cause the last six months I been doing R&B But now I'm on some sick shit; niggas better duck quick You don't know who you're fucking with; I'll leave you niggas breathless Seeing me and Bugz rolling in the blue hummer You a bitch: scared to shoot like Lindsay Hunter Don't need to be a father cause I'm just to illmatic I'll probably poison my kids like flowers in the alley Fuck your anorexic, neglects it. Fuck a Lexus I'm doing drive-bys on [?] BMXs [Verse 3: Bugz] I know a girl who said she's free, yo and her sign is a Leo Bugzy fucked her in a Regal then she took me to my PO Fuck rolling ceelo; I'm down to a C-note Lost a G rolling dice in that punk-ass casino But fuck it, cause when times get bad See me in drag, whipping macs on unsuspecting fags I gotta shoot. Bitch, you got the boot And hurry up with it: I'm trying to catch this prostitute [Verse 4: Kuniva] I'm the nigga that spotted ya; spit something hot at ya Rip your Nautica; saw you backstage and shot at ya And kill subliminally. You can go on And spin your group name 25 times in one song I'll still write about you. Hip-hop is better off without you Blowing niggas outta they bathrobes and funky house shoes For the hell of it, I fuck Missy Elliott Don't give a fuck if her belly gets in my way: I'm still nailing it Got this verbal tech nine spitting at you for telling shit Get this dead body off the mic: I'm fucking smelling it [Verse 5: Kon Artis] Fuck it: let's have a scrap-out. Fuck around with us and see what happen We all got them guns blapping; got y'all niggas back tracking Ya, we dump bodies in seashores Busting DJs over they backs with keyboards Turn up my levels. Your crew is fruitier than pebbles Changing you razorback emcees to running rebels Bust up. Kon Artis: quick to smack your slut up Keep a pack of rubbers just in case I gotta nut up Brigade-style hold 'em out down; that's how it's meant to be You kick the same shit: your whole tape sound like a symphony Don't say shit to me. It's DP conning your daughter Talking bitches outta they panties, dollars and last quarters Like that horseman, I'll leave you wack clowns headless Rastafarians come to my show and leave dreadless Whoever said this slash-rapper-and-producer wouldn't make your head twist? Guard your grill and your necklace [Hook] [x4] I got six reasons why we keep shit coming Dirty Dozen left niggas running for cover Hiding behind they lovers; skirting off, peeling rubber As we shout "don't fuck with Dirty Dozen" [Outro: Proof & Bugz] Yeah yeah bitch (what what) We'll bring it to your crew We'll bring it to your crew Any of y'all Die bitch Don't fuck with Dirty Dozen Dirty Dozen Bugz Proof Bizarre Don't fuck with Dirty Dozen Da Brigade bitch DJ Head Don't fuck with Dirty Dozen The saga starts right now If you ain't down with us from this day on Then fuck you