Feel It Lyrics - Fine Malt - House Of Pain

Meanwhile back at the ranch 

We got Bo Duke and Daisy goin' to go see boss Hogg 

Then ya got Kooter fixin' over them cars 

I don't need a glock 'cause I'm not a hard rock 

Got bitches on my jock like New Kids On The Block 

I can't lose like Parker Lewis I'm undefeated 

Step into my sector homeboy you'll get greeted 

By the 380 Colt Mustang in my pocket 

I had a few drinks already don't make me cock it 

'Cause if I have to cock it well then it's gettin' shot 

And if it's gettin' shot well yo you're gettin' bucked down 

I don't fuck around I ain't got time for punks 

But I got time to smoke all the skunk philly blunts 

Stunts gather round check out the sound 

And let's get down to do the nasty freaky funky stinky junky 

Let's bump uglies in the night time between the sheets 

'Cause I rock fly rhymes over funky beats 

The Celtic ruin, the legion of doom 

Now gimme the track or with the fat back doom 

Now gimme some room and I'll explode 

Cock back my hammer then squeeze off my load 

So hit the road Jack and don't come back no more 

Or I'll be moppin' up the floor with your crew of soft core 

Punk pussy bitches, jail house snitches 

On stage I get wrecked and I collect my riches 

I get the funky style and like gomer pile 

You'll be surprise, surprise, surprise as I 

Rise to the top fuck a punk cop 

I'm always hip hop only a pimple goes pop 

So you better quit zit I came to rip shit 

Blastin' with the soul assassins 

Askin' the question teachin' the lesson 

Bringin' the West Coast back to the East Coast 

Where it all started what're you retarded 

You're startin' to trip from that Jheri Curl drip 

Soakin' in your brain the house of pain 

Is causin' pain and feelin' pain so feel it 

Just feel it, feel it 

Just feel it 

C'mon y'all, feel it 

Back to the rhyme I'm always on time 

A lime to a lemon yo a lemon to a lime 

I rock the old school style and it's futile 

To step up 'cause you'll get swept up like dust 

Or I just might bust and unload my clip 

Unless you're a punk then I'll just pop you in the lip 

And show you the deal now how did that feel 

You know I'm killin' any pig that squeals 

I'm fillin' up reels of tape with my fly rhymes 

And I got a subsciption of High Times 

Son Dooby's in the back 

The Mexican Ralph Emms is on the track 

My DJ Lethal, he's on the cut 

When I bust a dope rhyme, it's like bustin' a nut 

So let me jerk off on the mic and get it sticky 

When I drink a brew it's either Guinness or Mickeys 

I'll put your head out just like a fuckin' Marlboro 

Don't fuck with me punk you know that I'm thorough 

Bred like a race horse right in your face force 

Feedin' you beats straight off the streets 

So catch, me catch me, if you can 

You know I'm the man like chewbacca knows han 

Solo, bolos are what I'll be throwin' 

When I be flowin' I get the job done 

'Cause I'm number one the prodigal son 

I left and I came back but not with the same rap 

And not with the same style I'm known to get buck wild 

The luck of the Irish, spreads like a virus, so feel it 

Feel it, just feel it 

Feel it, just feel it 

Feel it, just feel it 

Feel it, c'mon on y'all, feel it 

Just feel it, c'mon on