[Action Bronson:] Yeah, the chocolate T. A Bronsalinio yeah
To the back with the hat, lean back in the 'llac Crack the window, hear the soldier styles and that in back Ain't no "Cat in the Hat, " just a cat that can rap This is Bronson - representing Flushing, Queens on the map Yeah - heavyweight primate with a Harvard mind Blunts filled with the citrus mixed with orange lime Pussy drip when the thought of Action come to mind Born to ride, winter spring summer shine Bonafide, eyes wide, run and hide You don't want the revolution to be televised Terrorfied from the Arab mountain death camps With the iron burning hot, give you chest stamps Phone calls with the cloth over the mouthpiece With or without leaf, burn about an ounce chief To the neck like a razor for the stubble Raised inside the struggle, blazin in the huddle yeah Dig a hole, throw the lamb in it Left the slippers in the sand motherfuckers couldn't stand in it
("Someone took the words to my song") [ding ding ding]
It's Barry Horowitz rap, I pat myself on the back Don't fake the funk on a nasty dunk, Shaq I attack Close the window to your soul, weed inside my lungs burn These old suckers gettin placed into a young urn Specialized like the little bus Use my chubby little finger first to stimulate the clitoris King Kong ain't got shit on us I'm out here gettin it for real while you motherfuckers filibust' Weed in my finger flicker, I'm on a solo mission Started at pole position, eyes on the long division As it burn my thumb, I roll another one Quite persistant, that's why they call me my mother's son Shoot the cold gift, leave your ho stiff Make your ho sniff Hootie and the Blowfish Obey the coke king Cause every motherfucker in rockin loaded, I'm on that old shit!
("Someone took the words to my song") [x2]
[Jim Ross:] "Barry Horowitz, always likes to pat himself on the back"