Artist: Cappadonna f/ Rush
Album:  Wu-South
Song:   Street Flavor
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: Cappadonna (Rush)]
Uh-huh (yeah) uh-huh (my fuckin' Street Flavor)
Fuckin' ping-pong head (Ratchet Rush)
Street Flavor (fifty-one, thirty-six) Street Flavor
Ya new neighbor, nigga (give it to ya niggas one time)
Betcha jump up on my dick now, shit is bonkers...
You fucking idiot

[Rush]
Wicker man, trigger man, post on top of the hill
Get a Gram', flip a grand, try and hop through a mill
If I blew the steele, concealed at the top of my sweats
I pop you for real, aim for the top of your chest
Fuck the respect, power's all I need today
In that LC Lex so I can speed away, you know?
I don't think so, I didn't expect you to
You got powers, plus cops posted next to you
Listen to the cash flow, rap flow like Fidel
Castro, asshole, dude you get in the shell
Oooh, we sippin' the L, cee-lo, blowin' sticky-sticky
Navigator posted, sittin' high on them mickey-mickeys
Watch 'em drop fifty in yo city, from that icky-icky
Calico, strip 'em shells through your whole residential
See only presidents be blowin' spliffy like a rasta wit me
That chopper with me, pop a copper just for actin' iffy
Leave 'em stank and pissy, Cali pearl handle murder murder
Burn by my sermon, I'mma hurt 'em when I turn it on 'em
Steady serving on 'em, swervin' 'on 'em in that fishy-fishy
V12, Lex drop, blow ya top, tippy-tippy

[Cappadonna]
I destroy mics quick, leave parties crippled
Get down on the track, just sweat and ripple
Start commotion when I rap, my steeze'll get you
Only if you hood for real, my steeze hit you
Butterfly fuck niggas, bees'll sting you
Niggas that sling dope, I hope the d's don't get you
Stay on the low, kid, breeze with the pistol
For all my real niggas get g's with the pistol
Hold your hood down, nigga, cheese is the issue
Raise your guns up, nigga, squeeze and let loose

[Rush]
Ready quickly niggas know I gets busy
Made 'em lifty-lifty off the ground
When the pound hit, at a miscy muffler's rap
It ain't no sound bitch, now remy marty, marty crown
With the light Bacardi, now I wanna fight somebody
Nigga, pass the shotty-shotty, twizzy twelve gauge
Mossberg with the stocks off, shoot ya block off
With the mack when I pop off, fuck the drop off
Take the paper straight to papi papi
I've been cookin' cutter that's pitching on your blocky blocky
Snitches try to stop me, sending word to the copy copy
But I'm never sloppy, so I beat it, nigga watch me, watch me
Like a big screen, fifty inches in the living room
Just consider moves, that I make, type forbidden dude
Niggas tend to do, what they see, like a baby baby
Sonny acting shady with three eighties on they lady lady
Maybe they won't play from a distance, lizzy long range
This is strong game, like Gotti tephlon frame
You stepped on chains, just respected to the Pocono's
Cappa smoking bones, of that sticky-icky malibu
Bizzy green as a moon, no, we gon' throw it up
Put it in the air, Don pizzy P, Mo' it up

[Outro: Cappadonna]
Yeah, nigga, Street Flavor
4-4-3-3-0-6-9-7-6-2, nigga, we do what we gotta do
Ratchet Rush, nigga Don Don, what's up
Goon Squad Hooligan...