The Type That lyrics

[Joe Tex Sample]
I gotcha
Uh-huh, uh
You thought I didn't see you now, didn't ya, uh
Uh-huh, uh
You tried to sneak by me now, didn't ya? He-he-he-he
Uh-huh, uh
Now give me what you promised me, give it here
Come on

[Intro]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, uh
You know it's all terrific
You know it's

[Pre-Chorus]
Yo, I just want to see you pump yo fist
I don't want to hear ya'll talk no sh*t
I just want to get on stage and show the gift
Show the gift

[Chorus]
I'm the type of n*gga that'll click-click ride with ya
The type of n*gga that'll smoke that lah with ya
The type of n*gga that'll bust that nine at ya
Spit that line at ya, kick that fire at ya
[Verse 2]
Yo, ayo, what up, god? No luck? Aww
You can't sell crack on the block no more
'Cause I pulled up, parked, rolled up, sparked
Dogs bark, oh sh*t! Narcs!
I Jackie Chan up the wall and sit in the dark
Or go running for a jog while I spit in the park
My jigsaw still hard, the metaphors remain sharp
Give you sharp pains through your brain if you slang-box
Me and you in the sandbox with our hands locked
Get the same sh*t your man with the broken hand got
I bang Glock, I've been hot
c*ck bang Mi Ling from Bangkok for ten baht
My broad with the fat ass can sit up front
Your broad that look like trash can sit in the trunk
I'ma f*ck 'til I break off chunks
Break off a big chunk of skunk and take off with a blunt
Hit the studio, sometimes I work all day
Still change my voice-box oil every 3K
Step to the stage, throw a sign to the Deejay
Everybody screaming out, "Do what the weed say!"

[Chorus]
I'm the type of n*gga that'll click-click ride with ya
The type of n*gga that'll smoke that lah with ya
The type of n*gga that'll bust that nine at ya
Spit that line at ya, kick that fire at ya
The type of n*gga that'll set up shop with ya
The type of n*gga that'll pace the block with ya
The type of n*gga that'll pass the Glock to ya
Stash the rock for ya, n*gga, I got ya
[Verse 2]
This is a hip-hop invasion
My stage concentration got me 'bout to blaze it when the first wave hit
I wanna' see 'em pump their hands like this
Like they never heard a jam like this
The world never had a champ like Bis
How many cyphers I done banged like this?
No hype-man, just a hand-mic kit
I approach the stage, by motorcade
Like in the olden days, with my own deejay
Smarty Jones on the microphone: They know I'ma race
The first heat transfer, probably blow up the place
When I win, I start cussin', throw the dough in your face
You could keep it, I could get more, I know what it takes
In the parking lot drinkin' on drank
She view the videos, got me thinkin' that I'm holdin' up the wrong banks
No offense, I pull up to star studded events
In an old bucket with tints, with some of my friends
When I say friends I mean a couple buddies of mine
The Glock-nine and the double-action .45
Bend your mental from the beginning
To the end is connected to the beginning like infinity symbols
I keep it simple, don't want to offend you
'Cause n*ggas don't understand what they ain't into
Misunderstanding is still a form of understanding
But y'all n*ggas don't hear me though
[Chorus]
I'm the type of n*gga that'll click-click ride with ya
The type of n*gga that'll smoke that lah with ya
The type of n*gga that'll bust that nine at ya
Spit that line at ya, kick that fire at ya
The type of n*gga that'll set up shop with ya
The type of n*gga that'll pace the block with ya
The type of n*gga that'll pass the Glock to ya
Stash the rock for ya, n*gga I got ya //