Frontline - WC

«Man, Dub, I don’t even think they even believe in the Barracuda, Man!

I think they doubting!»

Basslines affect me, niggas respect me

Cause my flows is deadly and I’m a Connect G

And they know I’m ready cause my gun’s directly

Right where their neck be and I’ll make the TEC breathe

Climbing out of the manhole

With three creases in my flannel

The party’s over, blow out the candles

Bitch niggas to the back

Throw your hands up and guard yours

Cause in the front I just wanna see the hardcore

Now look, ninety-nine point nine point nine per cent gonna be all on my dick

Like I spit when I drop this shit

That other 1 per cent is gonna be yelling «Boo!»

On the Internet talking shit and hiding like you

Faggot ass niggas

Aiming the thing, thing to leave you brainless

Snatching bikinis off you fake gangsters

Spank you, bank you lamesters all you all pranksters

Impatiently waiting to shank you I’ve been so anxious

Nigga back to grip the pistol ripping a (shut your mouth!) instrumental

Still that four fingers up two twisted in the middle

Round two letting off another round fool!

Here comes Sasquatch in a pair of blue house shoes

WC, crashing kicking the glass, back at last

And all y’all can kiss my crusty black ass

I’m on some other shit

Two thousand and ten star child with the gauge bailing out the mother ship

Got a gang of weed and I’m a smoke all of it

Twenty years in the game and I ain’t even started yet

Stocking caps, Chucks, that’s the WC starter kit

Who want to see me on this walk twenty thousand start the bid

A double-O schizo at my own concert

In the bathroom ask a nigga what they hitting for

And if I crap out then nigga clear the floor

Cause I keep a .44 down to make sure they getting low

The kind of nigga pumping fluid in a '64

Yelling fuck security!

shooting up your disco

Go broke?

Shit no!

It’s either rap or pitch dope

That’s why every mic booth I heat it up like Crisco

I’m in the Crips Ford XT tipping slow with your baby mama

Pulling up to the liquor store

Out of South Central

Me and CT the West coast audio two time villain like Gizmo

WC spit the kill flow

Ask Game ask Kurupt who the big homie that can still go

Get with Dub?

No for real Loc you got a better chance of

Stevie Wonder making a fifty yard field goal

Rough like Brillo, head real low

Send my love to Cool J but ladies love me like a dildo

Dub a kill mode, sleep on me if you want

I’m like a loaded gun with the safety off under the pillow

Rags, braids, sets in the air

I represent all that ignorant shit you niggas scared of

Got a big stack, Ds on the Cadillac

But fuck the brag rap I spit the brown bag rap I’m that

Disrespectful ass nigga twisting on a zag

Walking in the club smacking bitches on they ass

And got a rusty corkscrew and broken OE bottle

Just in case the brave nigga with her want to play Geraldo

Bullet tips hollow

Dub will make your head bobble

Ghetto artist draw from the hip like Picasso

I’m Picasso in a hanky-patterned house robe

Known for drawing two barrels that blow like nostrils

Dub’s out of control and got a lot of flows

Keep the Rosé bitches __ __ __ __ __

Looking for some cash Rat?

Take your glass back

Cause over here a nigga’s nasty like ass crack

Turn your hearing aid up what’s wrong with you?

If you ain’t sucking of fucking tonight you got the wrong nigga

I’m in there doing a lot of things your nigga won’t do

Like putting you on a highway with a gang of niggas on you

Them other rap niggas trick a lot of loot

I just want to fuck you and break you

And treat you like a prostitute

And I don’t want to kiss, I just want to touch the enz

Dub the gutter kid motherfuckers know what it is

The ground pounder, Chevy scraper after the paper

And in a squab' I’m good with the hands like a masturbator

Smashing haters, cater to niggas who sag in Taylors

Gang sign translator, sucker nigga assassinator

The casket layer, 'hood navigator

Look what you done gone me on Toones

You should have never grabbed the fader

Harassinator, Wester with nav crusader

Like Mayweather I’m tired of messing with you bums

I’m moving my weight up

I 'K you slay you spray you put your spirits in a cloud in the air

Have your body on the ground surrounded by flares, see?

It’s back to the basics, so I’m closing my book

With laughter, and putting a lid on the chapter

And all you sentimental rappers

Take money, take pussy, fuck all that soft shit

I’m capping at your car Bitch, y’all niggas garbage

Dub the urban vet Mandingo fuck with me I’ll have

You leaving the fight limping with your turtle neck wrinkled

I know it’s a couple of niggas that can swing 'em

But show me a nigga with muscles I show you something that can shrink 'em

Dirty ones, big ones believe me I ain’t scared

Dub will pick one, any one, got 357 of 'em

Nah, what’s really what’s cracking

I’m really with a TEC and

Really with niggas gattin'

Don’t be talking loud but really be rapping

Really the fact is the nine milli' I really be packing

Cause y’all all lights and cameras I’m ready with the action

When I’m on?

No this is really just a fraction

A freestyle for the top of the year

Like Primo I’m calling it a Premier

But don’t worry the Barracuda’s back taking the room

WC and Crazy Toones motherfucker stay tuned!