Do You (Know Who You) [Street]

[Intro]
Do you, know who you, is fucking with?
C'mon, sing it, U.G
C'mon, do you...'bout to blast off son. Check it

[Verse One]
Quick to blow a, hole through your shoulder
Here's a dose of my rap folder
Kick back like a black toaster
Poisonous like cobras, lean over
Slap ya, back handed, the rap man did
Command cliques like generals
Large genital, hold your mental
Hostage, squad shit
Flows retarded, the rap artist formally known like Price is
Relentless when connecting sentences
Strictly Business like Parrish and 'em
Embarrass men, unraveling what's inside your abdomen
Battling, Madison Square Garden
Who want it?
Brains haunted, sheets put cum stains on it
UG will flaunt it if it shines like dimes and wishing wells
Snatch your jewel, spit Hell, watch UG sell
Your crew is frail like the crackhead on the PJ's
U.G. sprays get killed in 33 ways
What?

[Hook] {x2}
Do you, know who you, is fucking with?
U.G. motherfuckers, what?

[Verse Two]
On top of this, rock the populace
Soon to cop a six, no stopping this
Hoes topless, topple shit
Throw bottles and shit when I come on Ruckus
Fuck this
Now it's on you cocksuckers
I hang with luscious
What? Official throat cutters
That roll Dutches in the back of an old Cutlass
Behold the roughest, toughest, rap specimen
Bend bones like wrestling holds
Gold frames is no game I blow flames
I hold your dame
Hold your chain
Insane, pop a membrane
Strong winds and rains
Hurricane Hugo
The Don Puzo
Blow hold through your two do'
Then you throw shit in your games
Spit at your maine
Shit ain't the same, switching lanes
No signaling
Shorties wiggling
Four wheeling
I want a million
Or be forced to cause the blood spilling

[Hook]

[Verse Three]
De de de da!
The rap hero
Smack your earlobe
With hot shit, apocalypse
Jewels I got it, tools I shot it
At men, what's happening?
Like Rerun, seize your funds
Weed and guns
Speaking tongues like Christians
When I'm spitting
In Houston I rock it/Rocket like Pippen
Fuck fiction, shit's real when the fifth peel
Red liquid spill on the concrete
Stomp your fleet
For fronting, something gotta give
Son I gotta live
Run in colleges and fuck all the freshmen
My profession takes skill
Brace the wheel
Spin out
Pull the steel and dump ten out
Air your men out
Screech off, leave you breathing soft when U.G. talks
My vocals bounce like seesaws
Don't need The Source or five mics
NBA Live nights
What my feds one in your head make sure you dead
Blaow!

[Hook]