Buddha Monk - Man's World lyrics

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[Intro: (James Brown sample) Buddha Monk]

(It's time to dance, it's time to dance)

[Chorus: (James Brown sample) Buddha Monk]

(This is a man's world) I shot ya...

(Somebody better call the doctor)

(This is a man's world) I shot ya...

(Somebody better call the doctor)

[Buddha Monk]

How dare ya'll cats try to front on me

Thinkin' like, you the shit, that's why you better than me?

Check it, I got sixteen that'll split six spleen

And definetly hollow points, so you can get my point, nigga

I ain't worried about buying no cars and shit

I just walk around the corner, and take your shit

Go ask the hood, do the Monk guns bark (ask them)

Go ask my hood, am I a True and Living God (peace God)

The answer you'll get, don't fuck with him

Do you wanna live, man, don't fuck with him

You'll also get the haters and gun fakers

Yea, I shot at them, that's why they all fucking haters

And I'm sure you'll wanna be like me

Cuz you told your bitch, and last night she told me

Motel 6 and I wanna thank you for your bitch

You can have her back, she's all yours, bitch

I come from a land where gangs don't play

D tuck block and g's weed cops

See that kid on the block, sagitarrius that hate you

Shhh, don't say nothing, I hate you too, faggot

You ain't a man, you still a pea shooter buck

Shut the fuck up, before this man fuck you up

I'm serious, this is my world, stay out of my ring mic

I bite your ear off and feed it to your fucking wife, nigga

[Chorus]

[Buddha Monk]

What you think I'm playing, oh you think it's a joke

Take two of these and feel these notes

I was born in a world with a silver spoon bent

Wooden spoons disrespect, across your chin

Pops standing on the corner with a hand full of gin

Shake, rattle them dice, I need chicken in the fridge

And my bids, I don't do skid bits

I get football numbers to counter your wrist

You can party at the rastas, Asta Spumanti

Shine two women in the club, while puff leaves your lungs

It ain't where you from, it's where's your gun

And where's your heart

Fighting is for fun, but busting is a gun art

I'm anoid by ya'll, seven scores by ya'll

Meaning the war I got with ya'll was made by ya'll

See what causes friction was the slick talking the talk

Your walk became important, cuz it's when the guns talk

I'm a big guy, and ducking they knives

Snipe one off, pick you up, go head, let the shells fly

You ready to die, not ready as I, come on

Tell the truth, you want the days to go by, right?

Let no man, fuck with G-Monks

Got them thang-thang niggaz, that'll put a nigga under, for real

You wonder, how you got the case of runs of

Gun diarrhea, now I'm dancing with thieves, yup!

[Chorus x2]