Do You (Know Who You)

[Intro] Do you, know who you, is fucking with? C'mon, sing it, U.G C'mon, do you...'bout to blast off son. Check it [Verse One] Quick to blow a, hole through your shoulder Here's a dose of my rap folder Kick back like a black toaster Poisonous like cobras, lean over Slap ya, back handed, the rap man did Command cliques like generals Large genital, hold your mental Hostage, squad shit Flows retarded, the rap artist formally known like Price is Relentless when connecting sentences Strictly Business like Parrish and 'em Embarrass men, unraveling what's inside your abdomen Battling, Madison Square Garden Who want it? Brains haunted, sheets put cum stains on it UG will flaunt it if it shines like dimes and wishing wells Snatch your jewel, spit Hell, watch UG sell Your crew is frail like the crackhead on the PJ's U.G. sprays get killed in 33 ways What? [Hook] {x2} Do you, know who you, is fucking with? U.G. motherfuckers, what? [Verse Two] On top of this, rock the populace Soon to cop a six, no stopping this Hoes topless, topple shit Throw bottles and shit when I come on Ruckus Fuck this Now it's on you cocksuckers I hang with luscious What? Official throat cutters That roll Dutches in the back of an old Cutlass Behold the roughest, toughest, rap specimen Bend bones like wrestling holds Gold frames is no game I blow flames I hold your dame Hold your chain Insane, pop a membrane Strong winds and rains Hurricane Hugo The Don Puzo Blow hold through your two do' Then you throw shit in your games Spit at your maine Shit ain't the same, switching lanes No signaling Shorties wiggling Four wheeling I want a million Or be forced to cause the blood spilling [Hook] [Verse Three] De de de da! The rap hero Smack your earlobe With hot shit, apocalypse Jewels I got it, tools I shot it At men, what's happening? Like Rerun, seize your funds Weed and guns Speaking tongues like Christians When I'm spitting In Houston I rock it/Rocket like Pippen Fuck fiction, shit's real when the fifth peel Red liquid spill on the concrete Stomp your fleet For fronting, something gotta give Son I gotta live Run in colleges and fuck all the freshmen My profession takes skill Brace the wheel Spin out Pull the steel and dump ten out Air your men out Screech off, leave you breathing soft when U.G. talks My vocals bounce like seesaws Don't need The Source or five mics NBA Live nights What my feds one in your head make sure you dead Blaow! [Hook]