Down For The Count Lyrics - Xzibit

One, two, three, four 

Grimy bitch stomp the bogey outside your front door (yeah) 

Puffin on Goodie, eatin tuna and rye 

Blow the spot with some old school shit from junior high 

One, two, three, four 

Jersey's finest in the house, punchlines and metaphors 

Make your foul ice grill, thug grimy on the real 

Puttin heads to bed like Hennessey and NyQuil 

Convertible style, still had the heat knockin 

Bumpin shit from way back with my man beatboxin 

Shootin the breeze - see I'm nice with these 

You'll be suckin it down like fast food high-see's 

Type of rap bitch that love underground classics 

Gettin more green than that nigga St. Patrick 

Makin wack rappers go and merc the set {*dial-up sounds*} 

Better off behind a desk tryin to surf the net 

Cause I be adamant, kill 'em when my joints get added in 

Worse than boric acid in your project cabinet 

Dirty Harriet, increase the fanbases 

Leavin non-writin cats stuck on the plantations 

Mini-skirts with tights, eatin lunch with whites 

Leave the party over here like they Israelites 

Got Cali Brooks critics, Ta' Kwe'(??) Xzibit 

Gonna rock shit down like he can't get no visits 

One, two, three, four 

Rock the whole world like the Rolling Stone tour 

Raw your wack set is faker than a bomb threat 

By a nervous terrorist who's so scared that his palms wet 

One, two, three, four 

The stuff legends are made of, urban folklore 

Like Jim Morrison we break on through 

Before I care about your take on me, we take on you 

Yo, yo, yo 

We bring it straight to your face from the start, yo 

Rage Against the Machine, break it apart 

Might be over your head, but it's straight from the heart 

I show my love in the light while why'all hate in the dark 

Straight to apocalypse is where I'm takin the art 

Givin niggaz battle scars, ALWAYS makin my mark 

You fakin the part of gangster, til niggaz break in your spot 

You straight bitch whether I say it or not 

Shit is hot, spittin flames on the track 

Put our town's names on the map 

From now until we fadin to black 

Where we at? Thug rebels love metal clubs ghetto 

When the slugs let go like Frankie Beverly 

Forever we stack notes like the treasury, flow heavenly 

Get you high on speech laced with obscenity 

Niggaz be gassed like Cipher Sounds, and need rescue remedy 

Then fall the fuck off like limbs affected with leprosy 

One, two, three, four 

Why the fuck can't MC's MC no more? 

Hardcore til somebody put me under the ground 

With a dick in your ear, still couldn't fuck with my sound 

One, two, three, four 

Takin me straight to the weed spot, then to the liquor sto' 

"Gimme Some Mo'" like Busta Bus', who do you trust? 

Swingin through, your favorite neighborhood lush 

I'm I-rate, usin your body for live bait 

Xzibit rockin them heavy gems you can't take 

Dilate, cock back the weight, spread hate 

Heavy metal we settle and set shit straight 

Hit gates in my younger days, from the policeman 

Me and my clan used to dance thicker than quicksand 

Supply and demand the hand is quicker than the eye 

Find some chickens to fry, while you find it hard to stick to your lie 

I see through the tricks, destroy the facade 

Your little lungs is too weak to hotbox with God 

Rah Digga, First Lady of the Flipmode Squad 

Gotta be hard like a young nigga walkin the yard 

For the first time, we ain't the niggaz you let shine 

Expect mines to blow lines like coke everytime 

I'm an Alkaholik nigga so I finish the fifth 

You at the front door bitchin because you ain't on the list 

It's like 

One, two, three, four