Parental Discretion

[Verse 1: Big Pun]
Aiyo, I'm hard to talk to, if you live, I probably fought you
Stalked you where you walked through at night, caught you, then tried to extort you
New York niggas is trigger happy, got Pataki scared
This town ain't big enough for both of us and I ain't goin' nowhere!
There it is, plain and simple, like Jigga, my game is mental
While slow niggas better know I blow their brains out they temples
I'm into black magical torture, romantic, dramatical author
Compatible with the average New Yorker
A fast talker, like Tony when he gassed Sosa
The masked enforcer, out for the cash and the cho-cha
Smash the coca, bottle it up, watch the fiends gobble it up
If I roll up, you do what? Swallow the stuff!
I don't give a fuck anymore
I'm only 24 years old and I've already broken every law
I'm horrorcore, this is for the heads
Runnin' up in your crib, now if you still hidin' under the bed

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes!
Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide!
Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny!
Little girls too; this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey!

[Verse 2: Big Pun]
Aiyo, my shit's the truth, 150 proof, no question
Parental discretion advised, keep out the eyes of the youth
It's too explicit, bullshit! I challenge the statistics
Violence existed before our music was even suggested
Arrested on sight, it's like there's no rights
That's why I rhyme so aggressive and bring every message to life
I Fight the Power, spike the powder — the 90 percent
Keep 10 and feed Twin half for personal reasons
The seasons change, things rearrange, but I stay the same
I played the game for the wealth until I've made myself a name
So blame it all on the gangster rapper
Thanks to Joey Crack for the chance to do it My Way like Frank Sinatra
I ain't an actor so it's all facts
Strictly raw rap totally intended for y'all
Dressed in all black with the ski mask or the pantyhose
Makin' cameos in liquor store cameras with the twin Calicos

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes!
Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide!
Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny!
Little girls too; this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey!
Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes!
Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide!
Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny!
Little girls too; this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey!

[Verse 3: Big Pun]
So forget the boom, one look, you shook
You know I'm stickin' you
Liftin' you off the ground, look down
That's where I'm puttin' you
Look in my eyes and remember me
How does it feel mentally havin' the enemy
Be the last thing you ever see?
The recipe is death and I'm the chef fricasseein' your flesh
Be my guest, but I ain't cleanin' the mess
Me and TS, we testin' niggas faith just to see their face
Expression, we guest in the States to death, beatin' the case
I'm in a state of grace, in a hated race by an angered face
Couldn't fight us, made a virus, gave us AIDS
I paved the way 'cause they ain't get me yet, wet me or affect me yet
I know they comin', they just tryna let me sweat
I recollect when I was just a boy eatin' Chips Ahoy!
Wasn't allowed to raise my voice, now I'm makin' noise
No more toys, strictly MAC's and missiles
Shorties with 40's packin' pistols
Catchin' bodies makes you official
So they say, I pray there's a better way
My kids don't do as I do, they do as I say
'cause daddy don't play

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes!
Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide!
Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny!
Little girls too; this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey!
Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes!
Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide!
Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny!
Little girls too; this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey!

[Outro: Busta Rhymes]
Word is bond
One thing about MCs is that we don't conceal the truth
We present real pictures about the positive and the negative
So don't blame the hip-hop when your seed is learnin' the real life from us
Do your duty at home and raise your child in the house
Parents, you don't do your job, we gonna put your children to bed at 9 o'clock, past your bedtime
Get your ass in bed, you ain't 'posed to be hearin' this shit
Word up, punishment, motherfuckers!
By the Punisher and Busta Rhymes, hah
Terror Squad! Flipmode Squad, niggas!