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...