Woorden: Papa Roach. Liquid Diet.

This time I came to get mine. I saw this cat running with his hand on his 9mm. He's got a small peter. Got 2 kids and a wife plus he beats her. Nod ya head as if my shit was the dog catcher. P-Roach comin through sick and I'm gonna have to betcha my last dollar that you come on back. You getting weak in the knees while you smokin the cess. Oh yes. Word to God. I know his son is the best. He helps me out when I'm down or when I'm crazy ill stressed. I confess. I'm not as good as the rest. But I get down for my crown and I don't crack under stress. But I'll be careful though cause the girl is memorizing. She takes off her clothes. Her body is mad surprising. Slangin. Bangin. Her two breasts was firm and not hangin. Listen to this rhyme that I'm slangin. Hooked up with this girl. Her name is Kelly. For really. The hip hop body and a piercing through her belly. I knew she was mine when I saw her working on the line. Servin pasta & salad and she's still lookin fine. But enough of that though. I give a shot out to Happy. He's partying down and getting props in this rap. See cause I'm the type of cracker that'll get straight down to beat that you hear. It's the P-Roach sound. Abused with forks. Knives. Cut with razor blades. That shit is absurd. His temper's flaring. Now he's twice as mean. Now I am talking about this fool. Beats his wife. Thinks he's cool. She cries so hard. She's trembling. This time he beats her. He's twice as mean. Silence in her rage. She should recognize. Next time he is gone she should pack her bags and leave...