Lyrics
I’m a young gifted and black mack, rap sweet like candied yams
And I make you put your fist up to your mouth and say, «Goddamn!»
Boy, I got heat, flame-o, pour like liquid Drano
Verbal volcano, they love me, 'cause they know
I’m cut from the cloth that real men are made of
Bitches get sprayed up with clips of this Bay love
Attackin you with vernacular, dialect and lingo
The Rapper Gone Bad, boy, peep the first single
Bounce and shake what your mammy gave you
It’s the Dre-pors, can you feel it? Nothin can save you
From the dapper rapper who stay fitted like a mannequin
Hoes see me in the traffic and say, «Girl, there go that man again»
I’m fabulicious, game nutritious
Break bitches like dishes and drink like them fishes
Boy, put some of that Yukon Jack in the bag
And come fuck with yo' partner, the rapper gone bad
(Rapper gone bad)
(Ra-ra-ra-ra-rap)
(Rapper gone bad)
(Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad… rapper gone bad)
(Bad-meaning-bad)
(Bad, bad, bad… rapper gone bad)
I’m an old schooler like Grandmaster and the Five that was Furious
Got bitches goin delirious even though it ain’t that serious
You’re curious? Well, listen to these lyricals
Them suckers tryin to knock this, it’s gonna take a miracle
I’m seasoned with the game that O.G.'s told me
Got laced like Luke did by Obi-Wan Kenobi
Or Yoda, hold a mic in my right hand
And when I’m sleep you know I keep a fat strap in my nightstand
That’s right, man, my hypeman is L-O-double T
Might see us after the show at the hotel DoubleTree
Cool, calm and collected, but sometimes I get mean
'Cause suckers sick of the scene like they Jack and I’m the Green
Giant, defiant, bitches get dealt with quick
Can’t be on this ball team unless you wanna help get grits
Let’s get rich, is what I tell em, sell 'em dreams like horoscopes
They try to fight the feeling, but it’s hard to ignore your folks
Mac D with the R connected to the E (me)
Might be at the bar drinkin' Hennessy
In between the sheets I’m a freak and a cold piece of work
My body over her body like Johnny, Keith and Levert
I’m a thug like 2Pac, born to mack like Too $hort
Smoke punks like Newports, get drunk off two quarts
Bendin' corners in somethin' ninety-new
Lookin' real ragooey on my way to see Chuy
Boy, I’m on the air gettin' heavy rotation
But I’m still a player with a Chevy on Daytons
I’m hi-po, and the five-o really can’t stand me
Got posse, Flowmasters, a shift kit in the tranny
Chirpin' every time I shift gears
In that 9−5 Impala with them gold-dipped gears
Put some of that 1−5-1 in the bag
Come fuck with yo partner, the rapper gone bad