Fish Head Stew

[Verse 1: Mac Dre]
 I'm a hutch-peeler with much scrilla and I love to get high, homie
 Shady character like Don King, so you better keep your eye on me
 I done bust niggaz in the grill and had 'em wearin partials
 Jacked high rollers and ran from the US marshalls
 It's called survival and only the strong can survive
 And went the distance with the feds while some of my partners took a dive
 Strive to stay alive, can't let no nigga smudder me
 Got to stay f-r-double e and keep these bitches lovin me
 Sippin bubbly, breakin down buds from a fat sack
 Reservations at (?) arts craft shack
 I stacks fat cause a mackaroni gots to have cheese
 (?) pillows and cigarillos and backwood leaves
 And I drinks Hen by the gallon, so sometimes I might trip
 Infrared beam with black talons and that extended clip
 Quick to do some sprayin, so nigga, watch what you sayin
 You'll get your show cancelled like Keenan and Ivory Wayans
 [Chorus]
 I'm just a pimp, mane, tryin to stack some Francs
 So I can have French maids pedicure my bunions
 Oh, you ain't knowin, what is you, new?
 Yo hutch must be feedin you fish head stew
 [Verse 2: Mac Dre]
 Mac Dre shake broke hoes with bolos and kids
 Tell a bitch she can take a long walk off a short bridge
 And hope she land in shark-infested waters
 Heartless, takin over turfs like Nino did to Corace
 Kidnapped by the feds and treated like a sucker
 But now I'm free they see payback's a motherfucker
 I'm sickenin, like dickin all they daughters and nieces
 Now CO's and PO's want me restin in pieces
 Gettin peace is so hard that it'll make your nose bleed
 And I been smokin since niggaz was on gold weed
 Born to be a player, rhyme sayer and clock grits
 Strapped with two 23 speedin chop sticks
 Quick to kick a bitch to the curb
 And get back with her on a 33rd
 I never worry, never worry, it's all copastetic
 Got mo' game than needed insulin in a diabetic
 [Chorus]
 [Verse 3: Mac Dre]
 I be fitted, dipped in butter, hair cut like Kobe
 Blindin 'em with science like Thomas Dolby
 Pullin on black MI, sippin top-shelf Cuevo
 Playin with my hutch hair while she lickin on my navel
 Stable full of money-makin stallions
 Been in the feds with dreads from Jamaica and Italians
 Shrimp scampi eater Peter Long []
 Puffin purple cush at the building with my cousons
 Strapped, armed, ready, ain't nobody goosin me
 Got (?) where the airbags used to be
 Boy, you should see how I act off the privilege
 Hennessy is like Popeye's spinach
 I'm ready to take heads off, gunplay or fight
 I dot eyes and have 'em wearin they sunglasses at night
 Fool, that's real, that ain't no frontin
 Them punk-ass niggaz don't wanna see Dre about nothin