Mac Dre - Cuddies Say "Yee" lyrics

[Verse 1] [Mac Mall] I'm a Crestland, mad man, Country Club psycho With a**ault rifle and hatred for the 5-O Early d**h known, so we smoke Perry Como Make the minutes move slo-mo Wil' out for now, ‘cause when it end, we really don't know Youngsters have King Kong on they back before they grow old And in my turf, the streets so cold Put this on this choppa that I hold f** with my kinfolks and we'll be tagging your toe [Mac Dre] Man, this a rough life, I tuck gun, tuck knife I bust back, bust once, bust twice This 40 thang, will tear off your bumper It's my only gang, I call my thumper n***a, I'll jump ya, all by myself With no help, if you die, oh well No love felt, people, I'm a menace It's Maca**i on the mic, we playin' tennis [Chorus: Mac Mall] C-U-T-T-H-O-A-T Squares disappear when cuddies holla “Yee!” Breezies don't scream, paramedics clean the scene Slay the lames with SK's and AR-15's C-U-T-T-H-O-A-T Squares disappear when cuddies holla “Yee!” Breezies don't scream, paramedics clean the scene Slay the lames with SK's and AR-1-Feens [Verse 2: Mac Dre] I'm in the club VIP, with me thing Feelin' the DJ rhythm wide swing I'm searching, looking for a guinea pig Splat any wig, strapped with the mini Sig On Remy big, high-tech cyber Dre MacGyver, getaway driver Always tighter than the po-po or the feds I'm ridin' somethin' hi-po with ported heads Your boy with dreads and take the guys on one Frozen goods? Boy, I'm gon' run Dumb outlaw, on a crooked path Tryna look at cash, look at wood on the dash Look at screens, listen to the satellites Big appetite, n***a ain't actin' right I'm ill, so real you smell it MacEnroe, tell ‘em how to spell it [Chorus] [Verse 3: Mac Mall] Now, n***a, bounce, break out Run a route, scatter when you see my scowl Followed by the fully K imported from Moscow Since a creeper crawled, we did fugazis foul Hardest n***a test the line, he gots to blast me now Three C beast, North Pole of V-Town And all my n***as make these b**hes run like greyhounds We have no funk, guerilla warfare style Move on you without a sound and all of a sudden, crack your crown Doctors say smoke and poison make you senile Especially in them Backwoods, but f** it, blaze the pound And did I mention, we do the Rodney King, Reginald Denny Turn your little function to a stomp convention