Next Up Lyrics - Underground Kingz - Ugk

Gawd-DAYUM! I don't know what y'all been thinkin bout 

But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down! 

I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow talk low 

With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho 

Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this - pardon my Spanish and French (Brooklyn baby!) 

Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather 

'til your face sever, one of the greatest ever 

Beyond ringing bells, my name's so demanding 

Shit! - I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota "Fanning" (That boy still standing!) 

I hope you niggaz over standing; I stay sucker-free 

The next kaing of in the game, you ain't got enough to be 

Your career last a week, that'll be luckily 

Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody 

(AHH!) I'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women 

Gave the game "True Religion" before you found it in denim 

Feel the, "Wrath of Kane, " and you could not escape 

The hip-hop version of "The Ring" and you just watched the tape (Next up!) 

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And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward 

Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board 

Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga 

We Trill workin the wheel, understand nigga? (UNDERSTAND?) 

I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon 

High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin 

I'm way past endin in my series of warnin 

You flex with me tonight playa you dead by the mornin (Woo!) 

Bun Beater the best ever breathin or deceased 

From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East 

Got to any city nigga and bring my name up (all o'em!) 

I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up 

Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him 

Make a meal out his motherfuckin ass and then burp him 

(DAYUM!) Don't fuck around I'm not your lil' homey 

I'm the king of the underground so act like you know me (Next up!) 

Photos 

Feel me... 

Homie, we big steppin, big reppin 

We givin kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin 

Left with the Midwest, clique Texans (who dat?) 

G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, (word) pop you to death 

I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is 

When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons (woo!) 

(Aight) Til you strip vexing to a movie clip from the Westerns 

Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection (Tell em G. Rap) 

He will introduce you to the nose on the Glock fam 

Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band (rock band!) 

Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man (AOOOW!) 

High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan 

Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand 

We stackin cheese til the rubberbands pop scrams 

And I ain't breakdancin when I'm in the pop stance 

Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em "Hot Pants" (Next up!) 

I make your girl get down and open it up 

Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt 

I'm a young hot street flame (Flame) 

They call me Sweet James, or call me Sir Jones 

Two hundred dollar cologne 

(Uh!) Board Nine, or Issey Miyaki 

I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki 

I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin 

Fuck around I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket 

Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery 

She reckless eyeballin watchin my top fall in 

On my Lambourghini with the quick scream 

Fettucini, linguini, shrimp and a bowl of lean! 

What you know about gettin cross country 

Nigga your piece big but your diamond look monkey 

You need to take that shit back 

That ain't no emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that... 

Bitch what the fuck you done to that?! 

Now, damn somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that!