Be Your Dog

Yeah! It’s Megadef What you know about Cheapshot?! What you know about Tak?! What you know about Ryu, Faggot?! What you know about Vin Scully?! [Verse 1: Tak] Another half-ass, hit out now We used to chill, ‘til that motherfucker bit our style It’s kinda funny how, You and your friends are small town Act like you got something, big to draw down, silly Probably confused, sobered up to shine So when you rhyme, you sound like both of us combined And don’t act like you don’t know You in a crew, couldn’t hold it down solo You full of poop so I’mma scoop the feces, put it in a Pamper (Uh) Let it drag, any time you call out won’t answer Punk, get a cab and a robbery You a little kitten that shouldn’t have climbed a tree Now you stuck with the truth ‘til we dig up the bones I feel pregnant--birth to my musical clones So for nine months, the pack rats watch them grow With your backpack, clown, you sound sloppy though [Hook] Now I wanna...be your dog Now I wanna...be your dog Now I wanna...be your dog Now I wanna...be your dog [Verse 2: Ryu] (Listen up, faggots) Knock, knock come off the damn platinum Stand back, drop the plaque, “Pop, pop!” So cock the magnum, “Rock, rock” Blow shots off at random, Ryu and Tak And we don’t stop the anthem Give my flow back Lo-Jack, phone-tap, punk the Pink Panther Give me a soul clap, “Click, clack!” Rip that, snap necks quicker than Kit-Kats Knick knack, patty wack pistol grip pump the jams up Wild West SOB’ shit’s bonanza Who the fuck wants it, spit guitar picks Slit your neck with a Bic razor across it Knock the bitch lead singer unconscious No pets, so don’t step watch the dog shit [Hook] [Verse 3: Tak] Signed a bad deal, with a weak video Maybe if I had skill I wouldn’t need serial And we ain’t have to pay anybody for shit Especially to play me, like I’m some kind of a bitch And every other day people want to swallow and spit Like a plunger, to sludge in abdominal kits And the promoters with their fat heads You and your chick friends (Uh) You don’t even know what rap is--you tripping Forty-seven groups on a ten minute marquee Barely making sense spitting words at a Mach 3 Sorry as hell, hobby or thrill Something that ain’t real, it’s obvious still So for the hell of it we dropped another album Shock Therapy Freaks, Artificial Intelligence Run pop pills, get the metal and click And reload if necessary, just to handle the kick--bitch [Outro] “Are you crazy...I got enough to worry about, getting back on the street... Doris...I could fucking kill you! I’m sorry!!!”