Club Scene

Intro: You want lessons? It's to get with it, we out nigga Come on! [Shyheim] I came into the party with my fly Wu-Wear shit on Two hundred in, my teeth flex, gotta throw my hit on Movin through the crowd with my shines hangin out Hit the bar, for a Henney straight, no chaser Guzzle it down, honies crowdin around the Killa Bee Buy you a drink, you kidding? Love, you got to be Since you on my dick, won't you buy me a drink? Chewin my ear off, tellin me that she met me in the rink I don't get tricky, got too much G Got a degree in P.I.M.P-alogy, acknowledge me Not a playa, teach these niggas how to be, I'm ?Wallabeeneny? Thugs throw it up, everytime they see me I hollow back, "Where the bats at?" Baseball fitted hat, 7-1-8ths, New York Yanks' She was Miss Elliot Trace, from her shoes to her face With a body just like a Ferrari shape She asks me, "How you get that cut on your face"? That's when the DJ shouted out, "Shyheim's in the place" I was high off the notion and case It must have been her birthday cuz she was holdin mad cake Her man holdin no weight He low-budget, she told me we was fluckin We with two of her friends and three of her cousins We in the corner whinin, my whole team's shinin It's time to go when these fake rappers start rhymin For real son Chorus: You know the club scene, 7-40, I beam You know the club scene, big icy links and minks You know the club scene, fuck around and get shot You know the club scene, niggas spend all they got You know the club scene, shorty, she lookin hot You know the club scene, niggas be on Bra' You know the club scene, you better tuck your watch You know the club scene, we flossin in the parkin lot [Shyheim] There's a party goin on, down the blizz-ock In this little hot box, but you might get shot Cuz there's a lot of Knuckleheadz, who'll be playin this club A hole in the wall, I got my gun in, ain't searchin at all I watch you hand-to-hand niggas, that be tryin to ball With your little ghetto-fame, Tech to snatch your chain They used to call him Killa, now Got-Murdered his name I smack Earth, Wind & Fire out lames Take money, thuggin ain't a thing I got my drink in my right hand, left hand in my pants I don't dance, just be loungin in my B-boy stance Respect my gangsta, move like an army at war Spit some Willy in the air, and we slid out the door About a quarter to 4:00, jumped in the 4x4, smooth like velour Say no more, every party I go to, I bring a bird home Call me Cabosa Indiana Jones Chorus [Shyheim] I had this show O.T., at this venue called Ritz I was rockin the mic, when I noticed this bitch She was lickin her lips and her rubbin her tits I can tell that she stripped, I had to politic But she was with this achin bitch, Alienation bitch Throwin peanuts in my Jif, makin me sick Etcera, etcera, I'm liable to get rid of her I don't give a fuck Took her in the bathroom, picked her up in the tub I'm like a drug, I be stalkin the club Ladies beware, eighteen and above, what? I'm a heart-breaker, the mind-raper That don't spend no paper and don't like bitches that wear makeup