Lyrics:

Get up funky... huh, let me here ya talk, talk about bitch



Me I'm a victim of a young girl's suck

Feeling the emotions through my body ass butt

Everytime I see her in that god damned dress

Fell the stomach, busy stomach, that's what I have to confess



Ah, that's me ya what you see ya

Telling 'bout my stomach and my feels ya

Ah that's me ya, watcha see ya

Telling bout, telling bout me ya



This is a thing that everybody knows about

Every boy and bitch so myself I mustn't worry about

Easy to find, huh, hard to lose

So me myself and I, we got no chance to choose



I can't tell ya what I feel ya

This is a motherfucking problem that I hate ya

I can't tell ya what I feel ya

I hate it but I take it but I try to surpress ya



Chorus:

Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said fuck the facts

Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said fuck the facts



In addition to the point I was talking about

You must remember my name and all my habits and my attitude

So listen to the things that I've got to tell

My name is G on the B.A.S.S. B.G



Hit the bass in the face seven days of the week ya

Hanging 'round my posse that's what everybody needs ya

Me and my band, that's what I stay for - stay for

Me and my band, that's what I pray for - pray for



Music has a use for my personality

Cause if I'd loose it I wouldn't stand it if you know what mean

My heart is hundred percent music that's what I feel ya - feel ya

I feel the drummers kick in my B.O.D.Y. so



I try to combine my fucking emos to the bitch hit

Try to fight it with my music as hatred

I try to combine my fucking emos to the bitch hit

Try to combine it with my music as hatred



Chorus



What about my girl, man?

What about my music, man?

Ina bona lita

I can't stand that shit...