Artist: The Boss Hog Barbarians Album: Every Hog Has Its Day Song: Hog Luv Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash [J-Zone] + (female) (Hey daddy!) Hey beitch (I wanna be your BITCH. How can I qualify?) I mean, it takes a real special kind of lady to be with a Boss Hog, y'knahmsayin? I mean You just can't be any girl to be a Hogette You gotta be that kind of girl you can take home and show your grandmother, y'knahmsayin? I mean You know what? I'm-I'ma tell you I'ma tell you what kind of girl you need to be Check it out, heh I need a girl with extensions in her hair Or she can be baldheaded, shit I don't care! A crazy nag with a bad attitude That's all I need to put me in a good mood She beat her kids with a switch and joined the street gang Start shit with other girls when they try to run game Standin at the bus stop, waitin for the Q3 Settin metal detectors with her bootleg jewelry Or a rich bitch from Long Isle' that actin like Hilary Banks High as the national debt, straight whylin Bougie, yet she drinks 40's of brew A Yale graduate, yet she snorted all of her room Used to search for a regular girl like a ass But you got nuttin to lose when yo' hoe is low class Faith beat up her pops for sport, Jan's a klepto She can steal a 747 out an airport My new broad is neurotic with a slight mustache But somethin 'bout the crazy bitch won't let me quit her She went trick-or-treatin with her kids to rob the homeowners God damn nigga, maybe you should reconsider! Maaan fuck that, I got no love with the wife type I never met one, so I stick to the trife type Got fo' kids, low class, but I can spank her And got a trackin device, strapped to her ankle So she ain't in the club, flirtin with Pharrell She's home by eight o'clock cause she don't wanna go to jail Met a Adrian Balboa bookworm type But on the low a coke sniffin snow blower had to let her go A grimy Far Rockaway thugmatic bitch Suburban-ass soccer mom drug addict bitch Every girl I date seems to be a nutcase And I'm the only dude that never been to jail the slut dates Lisa, Angela, Pamela, Robin I don't need 'em, them hoes got problems But I can't stay away, but if they ever need a place to stay Stay the fuck from around my way, ya crazy bitch! [Chorus: Boss Hog Barbarians] Somethin about you - makes me wanna make you my wife But bitch you trife and baldheaded with no job Callin all hoodrats and psychos They always wanna fight hoes Drunk, high, about to do a bid You wanna be a singer and you got four kids Bitch you crazy, I should quit'cha Aww fuck it, I'ma stay wit'cha [Celph Titled] Silky, filthy, her gold teeth like sunshine That's why I had to dedicate at least one room To all them gangsta bitches from the neighborhood Cause I'm the one to fuck you like no other brother would Type to go to Burger King, splurge on some onion rings Purple eyeliner, earrings the size of onion rings These are things I like in my girls, I ain't playin They the ones from junior high, skippin class, misbehavin Gettin fucked in the stairwell, pregnant at 14 Runnin drugs back and forth in projects at Fort Greene Asked if she could use a gun - she said, "Which one?" I said the M-249 she said, "Yeah that's that shit son~!" Keep her pussy clean but bitch grimy as hell If cops find out she sell she'll be confined to a cell She don't write no love letters, she snuffin them thug heffers DipSet and D-Block, she only listen to thug records Perm in your hair or even a curly weave Buck fifty scar across the face as cute as can be I need a bitch that's a rider that's the one for me But she ain't gettin out of jail 'til I'm a hundred and three And really most of y'all dudes is too soft for these broads Offerin cards and candy, asian nails and massage But I just pull out the garage in a hooptie, ready for action For girls with tats on they breasts that read "Thug Passion" [Chorus] [J-Zone] Man fuck that, this is dedicated to all my flaky, psychotic, drama queen ex-bitches Doin time for stealin blank checks Got enough kids to start a fuckin Pop Warner team Doin more drugs than the cast of Different Strokes Jealous ex-boyfriend havin rap groupie tramp punk hoe Stop callin me, don't e-mail me, don't come to my shows Kill that I love you talk cause love went out with the Reebok pump I got nuttin for y'all but a case full of Bitch-B-Gon and a can full of Hoe Repellant, abra-cadabra BITCH DISSAPEAR!