Buddens (Remix) lyrics

[Intro]
We got a problem Houston,
Not Marques Houston or his little rapping side kick
We got a real motherf*ckin' problem
And it's only gon' be one of these songs
After that I'ma knock your motherf*ckin' ass out

[Verse 1]
b*tch n*ggas get put in the coffin
With all that psychopath talking
You listening to the Source and I ain't from Boston
I'm gang banging, wear G-6's
Call em' how I see em', these n*ggas is b*tches
And Clue put this n*gga on a song and now its G-Unit
And I came to get it on
You ain't hot, n*gga you lukewarm
I'll hog tie your ass with G-Unit shoes on
You had Pump It Up that was a cool song
You only sold 10 records n*gga now move on
Talking about you got ratchets and tools on
When you was at the all-star game with no jewels on
I can't believe I gave you dap
With the .45 on me I should of gave you that
Pistol whipped you laid you flat
Jump off buddens nah, disgrace to a Yankee hat
And its time to state my biz
Only n*gga pushing rock in jersey is Jason Kidd
You a phony n*gga I'll erase your wig
Have you running to the church like Mason did
[Hook]
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens

[Verse 2]
You don't know me fool
To diss me on Dj Clue
I don't need no assistance to dig you a ditch
And any problem I got I just put my clip in
You fake like Janet's titty
One call 300 Bloods in Atlantic city
You bad boy then dance like Diddy
I give celebrity beat downs
I bring the camera with me
On that mixtape sh*t you knew my man was 50
And I keep something chrome in them tanish di*keys
Smoke n*ggas like a gram of sticky
And I know my way to Harlem ill take you to bransons with me
Come to Compton you'll vanish quickly
I got n*ggas in the hood that'll kill you for a can of Mickey's
Gangs of L.A. we never die
And we'll let hollow tips fly at Joe
[Hook]
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens

[Verse 3]
I drive through the desert storm kick up dust
Red and blue rags hanging out of pick up trucks
Get Banks on the phone, n*gga hit Young Buck
Tell em' we got a problem with this dumb f*ck
You was just in the city of angels
In the W lobby in the presence of gangsters
I'm the n*gga that'll beat you with the stainless
And leave you alive so you can run and tell stain
b*tch, I got n*ggas in Jersey that'll hang you
I'm a Los Angeles King with New York rangers
And you lucky Yayo got that beeper on his ankle
Joe Budden's the true definition of a wankster

[Hook]
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
[Outro]
This n*gga try to act like he ain't know what the f*ck he was doin'
You knew what you was doing, n*gga, stop lyin' to the f*ckin' people, n*gga
Gone jump on a freestyle, n*gga, on that fly sh*t
Try to diss G-Unit, n*gga
And I'm on the f*ckin' first verse
You ain't slick, n*gga, I caught that sh*t like a muthaf*ckin' Greg Maddox fast ball, n*gga
50 get Dre on the phone
See if that n*gga remember what Joe Budden's second single was, 'cause I don't
I took a survey in the hood, n*gga
Went to the projects asked b*tches if they feelin' your sh*t
They was like "no", haha
I went to the hood asked n*ggas if they was feelin' your sh*t
They was like "no"
Than I went to Jersey, caught me a f*ckin' flight, man, took my last 500 dollars, man
Flew to Jersey, asked n*ggas in Jersey if they like your sh*t
They was like "no", so I said "f*ck it, I'ma take this n*gga mutha f*ckin' head off"
Blackwall Street, Aftermath, G-G, G-Unit
You know what it is, n*gga
And you know where to find me