Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we got Bo, Duke and Daisy goin' to
  go see Boss Hogg. Then ya got Kooter fixin' over them cars...
  I don't need a glock cause I'm not a hard rock
  Got bitches on my jock, like New Kids On The Block
  I can't lose like Parker Lewis, I'm undefeated
  Step into my sector, homeboy, you'll get greeted
  By the 380 colt mustang in my pocket
  I had a few drinks already, don't make me cock it
  Cause if I have to cock it, well then it's gettin' shot
  And if it's gettin' shot, well, yo, you're gettin' bucked down
  I don't fuck around, I ain't got time for punks
  But I got time to smoke all the skunk philly blunts
  Stunts gather round, check out the sound
  And let's get down to do the nasty, freaky, funky
  Stinky, junky, let's bump uglies in the nighttime
  Between the sheets
  Cause I rock fly rhymes over funky beats
  The Celtic ruin, the legion of doom
  Now gimme the track, or with the fat back doom
  Now gimme some room, and I'll explode
  Cock back my hammer, then squeeze off my load
  So hit the road, Jack, and don't come back no more
  Or I'll be moppin' up the floor with your crew of soft core
  Punk pussy bitches, jail house snitches
  On stage, I get wrecked and I collect my riches
  I get the funky style, and like Gomer Pile
  You'll be 'Surprise surprise surprise!' as I
  Rise to the top, fuck a punk cop
  I'm always hip-hop, only a pimple goes pop
  So you better quit, zit
  I came to rip shit
  Blastin' with the Soul Assassins
  Askin' the question, teachin' the lesson
  Bringin' the West Coast back to the East Coast
  Where it all started, what're you, retarded
  You're startin' to trip from that Jheri curl drip
  Soakin' in your brain, the House Of Pain
  Is causin' pain, and feelin' pain
  So feel it
    [Chorus]
  Just feel it
  Feel it
  Just feel it
  C'mon, y'all, feel it
    Back to the rhyme, I'm always on time
  A lime to a lemon, yo, a lemon to a lime
  I rock the old school style and it's futile
  To step up, cause you'll get swept up
  Like dust, or I just might bust and unload my clip
  Unless you're a punk, then I'll just pop you in the lip
  And show you the deal, now how did that feel
  You know I'm killin' any pig that squeals
  I'm fillin' up reels of tape with my fly rhymes
  And I've got a subsciption to High Times
  Son Dooby's in the back, the Mexican Ralph Emms is on the track
  My DJ Lethal, he's on the cut
  When I bust a dope rhyme, it's like bustin' a nut
  So let me jerk off on the mic and get it sticky
  When I drink a brew it's either Guinness or mickeys
  I'll put your head out just like a fuckin' Malboro
  Don't fuck with me, punk, you know that I'm thorough
  Bred like a race horse, right-in-your-face force
  Feedin' you beats, straight off the streets
  So catch me catch me, if you can
  You know I'm the man like Chewbacca knows Han
  Solo, bolos are what I'll be throwin'
  When I be flowin', I get the job done
  Cause I'm number one, the Prodigal Son
  I left and I came back, but not with the same rap
  And not with the same style, I'm known to get buckwild
  The luck of the Irish spreads like a virus
  So feel it