Jon on the song: Fred was there after Korn tv and we said, 'Let's do a song together, Hey, man, let's go back and forth and rip on each other like an old school battle. ' I don't know who's idea it was, I can't remember if it was mine or Fieldy's or Fred's but we came up with the idea and we started writing and we worked on it together. I came up with some bags on myself for Fred to say. It was all in good natured fun.
Fred: What's up with this f*****g 'Ball Tongue' s**t?
Jon: All I needed was a Pepsi...
Fred: You better shut the f**k up, punk.
Jon: Whatever n***a...
Fred: Say what, say what?
Jon: My d**k is bigger than yours...
Fred: Say what, say what?
Jon: My band is bigger than yours...
Fred: Too bad I got your beans in my bag, stuck-up sucka', Korny motherfucka'. Takin' over flows is the Limp pimp, need a Bizkit to save this crew from Jon Davis. I'm gonna drop a little east side skill, ya best step back 'cuz I'm 'a kill, I'm 'a kill. So watcha thinking Mr. Raggedy man? Doin' all you can to look like Raggedy Ann.
Jon: I'll Check you out punk, yes I know you feel it. You look like one of those dancers from the Hanson video, you little faggot ho. Please give me some s**t to work with, 'cuz right now I'm all it kid, suck my d**k kid, like your daddy did.
Fred: Who the f**k you think you're talking to??
Fred: I'm known for eatin' little whiny chumps like you.
Fred: All up in my face with that...
Jon: Are you ready?!?
Fred: But halitosis, is all you're rockin' steady. You little fairy, smelling all your flowers. Nappy hairy chest, look it's Austin Powers!
Jon: Yeah, baby!
Fred: I hear ya tweetin' on them fag-pipes clod, but you said it best, there's No Place To Hide.
Jon: What the f**k ya' sayin'? You're a pimp whateva', limp d**k. Fred Durst needs to rehearse, needs to reverse what he's saying. Wannabe funk joke is what you're playin', rippin' up a bad counterfeit, fakin'! Plus your bills I'm paying, you can't eat that s**t every day, Fred. Lay off the bacon.
Fred: Say what, say what? You better watch your fu***n' mouth, Jon.
Chorus: Jon: So you hate me? Fred: and I hate you! Jon: You know what, you know what? Both: It's all in the family.
Jon: I hate you! Fred: and you hate me! Jon: You know what, you know what? Both: It's all in the family.
Jon: Look at you fool, I'm gonna f**k you up twice, throwin' rhymes at me like, oh s**t, Vanilla Ice. Ya better run, run while ya can, you'll never f**k me up, Bisc Limpkit. At least I got a phat, original band.
Fred: Who's hot, who's not?
Fred: You best step back, Korn on the cob, you need a new job. Time to take them mic skills back to the dentist, and buy yourself a new grill.
Jon: f**k you.
Fred: You pumpkin pie, I'll jack-off in your eye. Climbing shoots and ladders, while your ego shatters. But you just can't get away.
Jon: Get a g**?
Fred: 'Cuz it's doomsday kid, it's doomsday.
Fred: You call yourself a singer?
Fred: You're more like Jerry Springer.
Jon: Oh cool!
Fred: Your favorite band is winger,
Fred: and all you eat is Zingers. You're like a Fruity Pebble, your favorite flag is rebel.
Fred: It's just too bad that you're a fag, and on a lower level.
Jon: So you're from Jacksonville, kickin' it like Buffalo Bill. Gettin' butt-f****d by your uncle Chuck, while your sister's on her knees waitin' for your fu***n' nut.
Fred: Wait, where'd ya get that little dance?
Jon: Over here.
Fred: Like them idiots in Waco, you're burning up in Bako where your father had your mother, your mother had your brother, it's just too bad your father's mad, your mother's now your lover.
Jon: Come on hillbilly, can your horse do a fu***n' wheelie? You love it down south, and boy, you sure do got a purdy mouth.