Fuck The Facts

Get up funky... huh, let me here ya talk, talk about bitch
 Me I'm a victim of a young girl's suck
 Feeling the emotions through my body ass butt
 Everytime I see her in that god damned dress
 Fell the stomach, busy stomach, that's what I have to confess
 Ah, that's me ya what you see ya
 Telling 'bout my stomach and my feels ya
 Ah that's me ya, watcha see ya
 Telling bout, telling bout me ya
 This is a thing that everybody knows about
 Every boy and bitch so myself I mustn't worry about
 Easy to find, huh, hard to lose
 So me myself and I, we got no chance to choose
 I can't tell ya what I feel ya
 This is a motherfucking problem that I hate ya
 I can't tell ya what I feel ya
 I hate it but I take it but I try to surpress ya
 Chorus:
 Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said fuck the facts
 Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said fuck the facts
 In addition to the point I was talking about
 You must remember my name and all my habits and my attitude
 So listen to the things that I've got to tell
 My name is G on the B.A.S.S. B.G
 Hit the bass in the face seven days of the week ya
 Hanging 'round my posse that's what everybody needs ya
 Me and my band, that's what I stay for - stay for
 Me and my band, that's what I pray for - pray for
 Music has a use for my personality
 Cause if I'd loose it I wouldn't stand it if you know what mean
 My heart is hundred percent music that's what I feel ya - feel ya
 I feel the drummers kick in my B.O.D.Y. so
 I try to combine my fucking emos to the bitch hit
 Try to fight it with my music as hatred
 I try to combine my fucking emos to the bitch hit
 Try to combine it with my music as hatred
 Chorus
 What about my girl, man?
 What about my music, man?
 Ina bona lita
 I can't stand that shit...