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letra de hog luv - the boss hog barbarians

[j-zone] + (female)
(hey daddy!) hey beitch
(i wanna be your b-tch. how can i qualify?)
i mean, it takes a real special kind of lady
to be with a boss hog, y’knahmsayin? i mean
you just can’t be any girl to be a hogette
you gotta be that kind of girl you can take home
and show your grandmother, y’knahmsayin? i mean
you know what? i’m-i’ma tell you
i’mma tell you what kind of girl you need to be
check it out, heh

i need a girl with extensions in her hair
or she can be bald-headed, sh-t i don’t care!
a crazy nag with a bad att-tude
that’s all i need to put me in a good mood
she beat her kids with a switch and joined the street gang
start sh-t with other girls when they try to run game
standing at the bus stop, waiting for the q3
setting metal detectors with her bootleg jewelry
or a rich b-tch from long isle’ that actin like hilary banks
high as the national debt, straight whylin
bougie, yet she drinks 40’s of brew
a yale graduate, yet she snorted all of her room
used to search for a regular girl like a -ss
but you got nuttin to lose when yo’ ho is low cl-ss
faith beat up her pops for sport, jan’s a klepto
she can steal a 747 out an airport
my new broad is neurotic with a slight mustache
but somethin ’bout the crazy b-tch won’t let me quit her
she went trick-or-treatin with her kids to rob the homeowners
god d-mn n-gga, maybe you should reconsider!
maaan f-ck that, i got no love with the wife type
i never met one, so i stick to the trife type
got fo’ kids, low cl-ss, but i can spank her
and got a trackin device, strapped to her ankle
so she ain’t in the club, flirtin with pharrell
she’s home by eight o’clock cause she don’t wanna go to jail
met a adrian balboa bookworm type
but on the low a c0ke sniffin snow blower had to let her go
a grimy far rockaway thugmatic b-tch
suburban–ss soccer mom drug addict b-tch
every girl i date seems to be a nutcase
and i’m the only dude that never been to jail the sl-t dates
lisa, angela, pamela, robin
i don’t need ’em, them hoes got problems
but i can’t stay away, but if they ever need a place to stay
stay the f-ck from around my way, ya crazy b-tch!

[hook: boss hog barbarians]
somethin about you – makes me wanna make you my wife
but b-tch you trife and baldheaded with no job
callin all hoodrats and psychos
they always wanna fight hoes
drunk, high, about to do a bid
you wanna be a singer and you got four kids
b-tch you crazy, i should quit’cha
aww f-ck it, i’mma stay wit’cha

[celph t-tled]
silky, filthy, her gold t–th like sunshine
that’s why i had to dedicate at least one rhyme
to all them gangsta b-tches from the neighborhood
cause i’m the one to f-ck you like no other brother would
type to go to burger king, splurge on some onion rings
purple eyeliner, earrings the size of onion rings
these are things i like in my girls, i ain’t playin
they the ones from junior high, skippin cl-ss, misbehavin
gettin f-cked in the stairwell, pregnant at 14
runnin drugs back and forth in projects at fort greene
asked if she could use a gun – she said, “which one?”
i said the m-249 she said, “yeah that’s that sh-t son~!”
keep her p-ssy clean but b-tch grimy as h-ll
if cops find out she sell she’ll be confined to a cell
she don’t write no love letters, she snuffin them thug heffers
dipset and d-block, she only listen to thug records
perm in your hair or even a curly weave
buck fifty scar across the face as cute as can be
i need a b-tch that’s a rider that’s the one for me
but she ain’t gettin out of jail ’til i’m a hundred and three
and really most of y’all dudes is too soft for these broads
offerin cards and candy, asian nails and m-ssage
but i just pull out the garage in a hooptie, ready for action
for girls with tats on they br–sts that read “thug p-ssion”

[hook]

[j-zone]
man f-ck that, this is dedicated
to all my flaky, psychotic, drama queen ex-b-tches
doin time for stealin blank checks
got enough kids to start a f-ckin pop warner team
doin more drugs than the cast of different strokes
jealous ex-boyfriend havin rap groupie tramp punk ho
stop callin me, don’t e-mail me, don’t come to my shows
k!ll that i love you talk cause love went out with the reebok pump
i got nuttin for y’all but a case full of b-tch-b-gon
and a can full of ho repellant, abra-cadabra b-tch dissapear!

- the boss hog barbarians

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