Mac Dre - Fish Head Stew lyrics

(Verse 1: Mac Dre) I'm a hutch-peeler with much scrilla and I love to get high, homie Shady character like Don King, so you better keep your eye on me I done bust n***az in the grill and had 'em wearin partials Jacked high rollers and ran from the US marshalls It's called survival and only the strong can survive And went the distance with the feds while some of my partners took a dive Strive to stay alive, can't let no n***a smudder me Got to stay f-r-double e and keep these b**hes lovin me Sippin bubbly, breakin down buds from a fat sack Reservations at (? ) arts craft shack I stacks fat cause a mackaroni gots to have cheese (? ) pillows and cigarillos and backwood leaves And I drinks Hen by the gallon, so sometimes I might trip Infrared beam with black talons and that extended clip Quick to do some sprayin, so n***a, watch what you sayin You'll get your show cancelled like Keenan and Ivory Wayans (Chorus) I'm just a pimp, mane, tryin to stack some Francs So I can have French maids pedicure my bunions Oh, you ain't knowin, what is you, new? Yo hutch must be feedin you fish head stew (Verse 2: Mac Dre) Mac Dre shake broke hoes with bolos and kids Tell a b**h she can take a long walk off a short bridge And hope she land in shark-infested waters Heartless, takin over turfs like Nino did to Corace Kidnapped by the feds and treated like a s**er But now I'm free they see payback's a motherf**er I'm sickenin, like dickin all they daughters and nieces Now CO's and PO's want me restin in pieces Gettin peace is so hard that it'll make your nose bleed And I been smokin since n***az was on gold weed Born to be a player, rhyme sayer and clock grits Strapped with two 23 speedin chop sticks Quick to kick a b**h to the curb And get back with her on a 33rd I never worry, never worry, it's all copastetic Got mo' game than needed insulin in a diabetic (Chorus) (Verse 3: Mac Dre) I be fitted, dipped in bu*ter, hair cut like Kobe Blindin 'em with science like Thomas Dolby Pullin on black MI, sippin top-shelf Cuevo Playin with my hutch hair while she lickin on my navel Stable full of money-makin stallions Been in the feds with dreads from Jamaica and Italians Shrimp scampi eater Peter Long () Puffin purple cush at the building with my cousons Strapped, armed, ready, ain't nobody goosin me Got (? ) where the airbags used to be Boy, you should see how I act off the privilege Hennessy is like Popeye's spinach I'm ready to take heads off, gunplay or fight I dot eyes and have 'em wearin they sungla**es at night Fool, that's real, that ain't no frontin Them punk-a** n***az don't wanna see Dre about nothin