Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Dave Bellochio
Dave Bellochio
Keyboards
James Brown
James Brown
Sampled Artist
Kay-Gee
Kay-Gee
DJ
Public Enemy
Public Enemy
Sampled Artist
Treach
Treach
Vocals
Van Romaine
Van Romaine
Drums
Vin Rock
Vin Rock
Vocals
Wattstax
Wattstax
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Keir Lamont Gist
Keir Lamont Gist
Songwriter
Anthony Shawn Criss
Anthony Shawn Criss
Songwriter
Vincent E. Brown
Vincent E. Brown
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Naughty By Nature
Naughty By Nature
Producer
Angela Piva
Angela Piva
Recording Engineer
Chris Gehringer
Chris Gehringer
Mastering Engineer
Dae Bennett
Dae Bennett
Mixing Engineer
David Bellochio
David Bellochio
Assistant Recording Engineer
Todd Sheerian
Todd Sheerian
Assistant Recording Engineer

Lyrics

Oh finally, finally (here we are) And for good are the three, follow me (it ain't far) Even though if it was, you could make it to the start The enemies, do you know who they are? (there they are) A devil with the dorags be walkin', now I had it up to there Oh yeah, that's the last straw (the nature's back for) Better than Disco (R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-round) uh-uh-uh Pin the tail on the junkie, find a false flavor It's a new day to play with a neighbor Freeze the MC's that wanna see thee By now naughty by nature by me They want me to come and come up faster, that could be arranged Dump the last of the matinée, 'cause they couldn't stand the damn rain The pain's the same, the game remains mine I got more hooks than a fish line Bite the head off a snake Chew up from the first to last break and shoot 'em in the face Make way, (move), boy, you detest me! (Huh, huh, huh) I seen your last porno flick, it ain't impress me Wassup? Cuddle sport, here's a thought (The only records that they got, are the records their crew bought) Damn real B rock, get fiendin, spunky Pin the tail on the donkey (Bring that beat back) Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go I do more poppin' than a blockhead Wreck the waxheads, I'm fed (Go ahead, you retired tackhead) Back to the fact of the track witha new thought You couldn't smoke blunts witha match and a Newport Here we go, we go, we go again, witha flow we know, we know it's in (Def play like Poppa Simpson) KayGee's on the slice, can he co-clean? Doin' more scratchin' than a funk and a dope fiend Go knock the blocks off, get your props off But don't cop off, cop out, and I'll cuts off Another renegade of rap will stop that I'm more feared than a Sugar Hill contract I'm known for lettin' the ho's go, my demo's all flow When cursin' was a no-no, you dodo Give it up 'cause I'm hot witha warm hate I won't stop, pop, 'til that head is screwed on straight I take shorts, and no sorts so take that clone The only thing I take is the 8 to the path home And I take you all the way to the north stop Your style's more foul than a pork chop I rock the hip-hop, non-stop ticktock Around the big clock, witha spot, ticktock Pin the tail on the jackass, it don't mean jack (chill) To a brother from down the hill Back track with a rap that remains funky (Hm-mm, and it's ugh) Back in the day, y'all, I played with Play-Doh The dough is real now, but you don't feel how Starvin' hungry MC gets when MC filet Mignon is the fixin' I'm starvin' up, it's time ta, call them up, yup Get 'em and cut 'em up, stuff 'em and cook the duck Tough luck, tell 'em to shut up and jet And feel the threat of a real life roughneck Pin the tail on the donkey Check (check), where you (where you), at (at) That another best will need a hard vest for this head, check (What? There's another, Treach?) that's what I heard, yep Three steps from a pit, boom, in his chest I never knew a nigga' really wanted to die Instead, he bit, instead of lookin' me eye-to-eye, then I Knew he was truly thru', dumb plus the one To meet the mighty one, call a bad one I rhyme about what I want to, microphone 1-2 You're doin like Lasuran then a bomb do T–H–E– M–C– O–F– R–A–P– T–O L–double O–K A–T I–N T–H–E– N–I–N–E– T–I–E, or watch me S–C And I might stop to step to his death Sexy, fancy, prancy and dancy No cosmo stomp, here's the true form Style's so fat, it gets fitted with a shoe horn Here's a clearer mirror, dear ya Lookin' in nearer, 'cause I don't fear ya Some get too souped to the point Where it's still too thick but still lick through and through Always wanted a guy to come and try To get sly and try ta, get by my Hideous, treacherous style that's wreckin' it (wreckin' it, wreckin' it) Pin the tail on the donkey (donkey, donkey) What? Yo, yo, yo, yo, wassup yo? What happened? It's like that? We gonna rush you again Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go
Writer(s): Keir Gist, Anthony Shawn Criss, Vincent E. Brown Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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