Yeah, yo

You might catch me at the local pub, postin' up Bud Light

Loving life with breathren, step into the thug type

To starting dumb fights, but you ain't tryna do shit

Plus your hat looks like it's four sizes too big

I'll strangle you fags with your doorags

Nice bedazzled shirt homie, you look like a douchebag

And it's too bad that I don't like to wear fake shit

'Cause I would love to smack that face with your chain, and snatch your bracelet

Save it, I'll put your tan face on the dirt

Keep starrin' at my girl, she's laughing at your Ed Hardy shirt

You ain't hardly worth the five cent deposit on the bottle

That's about to smash your face if you pop shit

Don't get obnoxious, 'cause we can step out-fuckin-side

And do you like a condom, fuck with you and bust inside

I'm not impressed by you talking about your gun

And I don't associate your rep with the town your from

Chorus:

Let's swing, when I'm talkin', let's show 'em how we walkin'

Let's swing, around me this shit happen very often

Let's swing, swing 'til there's nothing left to swing at

Hey yo, tell 'em where the fuck you've been at

I'll smack the gel off your head while you faggots pump your fist

And you girls are gross, I wouldn't even let you suck my dick

Orange faces and fake tits, nose jobs and spray tans

Covering your busted face with Ray Jams <--(?), that's just disgusting

I ain't even tryin' to hate man

But I'd be a techno DJ if I wanted gay fans

I can't break dance, but I could break your man's arm properly

And I don't give a fuck if the security guard's watching me

I came to get a drink, and find some weird chicks with pierced tits

You came here to dance on some queer shit

My beard's thick, plus I'm dressed like a scumbag

And I still get more women than dumb fags

Your girl's a cunt rag, money hungry, materialistic bitch

With a thousand dollar pocketbook, with nothing in the shit

I'm sick of it, so when you see a dude like me

Clear a mothafuckin' path before I run your jewelry

Yeah, yo

My favorite shit is the cats at rap shows

With black flows, dressed like a bunch of assholes

Loud mouths talkin' about guns and the gangs they're in

And it's always the wackest dudes that they end up managing

So when the crowd don't show them love they take it personally

Like they do when I don't give them beats or verses for free

Homie, you ain't murdering me, so don't even fuckin' tempt me

If you were hard, instead of screaming you would've swung already

And something tells me that your girl ain't really happy

'Cause while you went to buy her a drink, she was hollering at me

But I don't want that bitch, I got my own chicks

And my crew was packin' venues out back in '06

Please, I throw fists like I throw parties

You throw fits, and hate on me 'cause I spit dope shit

Know this, I do this for the love, but I will fight

And if you think I'm talkin' about you, you're probably right