Song parody of
LOOK IT IN THE EYE (POKE IT IN THE NOSE) (feat. Hitman)
by Xilla Gore-Rel-A
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Hahaha, Hitman, yeah, Xilla, alright
Country as a bowl of grits, known keep it thuggin' though
Everybody know I'm native, pull up on that buffalo
Doc gave me a double dose, he know that I'ma need it
Have my family speedin', run up in your house like what you eatin
If you speakin' my language, you better be with the shit
You a dog in the game, but you're surrounded by ticks
You'll be judged by the company you keep around
So ask yourself, who's gon' hold it down to let you drown
They bad news, only want you to lose
Stay watchin' your every move, don't let them get you confused
With the next man, the best plans are the ones you don't speak about
Let them doubt, I'ma keep it real, that's from the horse's mouth
I don't know you and you don't know me neither
Take a breather, smoke some reefer, I am Raps Brock Weaver
Flow's got a fever cause I'm sick with this pen game
My melody's unchained, red iron mustang
I ain't gotta fake it to make it, I'ma just do me
You barkin' up the wrong tree, askin' if you can call me
Gas tank was on E, eatin' cheese and bologna
Back then you didn't know me, now I'm hot, I'm your homie
Xilla took a different route, had to catch em by surprise
You can see the flames burnin' when you look into his eyes
You can try to take it from him, but I wouldn't even try
How the fuck you hurt a man when he's watched his soul die
You can get a fistful of meet, my pistol
Country folks will survive, and that's crystal
I'm not a country rapper, I'm a rapper from the country
5150, bitch, you don't wanna fuck with me
Hill Billy Hick, yeah, I live in Dixie Land
Earned everything I got, workin' with my fuckin' hands
Got that native in my blood, yeah, you wouldn't understand
Livin' gangster-ass, ties and drawin' lines in the sand
To tell y'all the truth, yeah, momma really tried
But I hopped off of that porch and I become a problem child
Livin' low class really made me want more than that
So I hit the road with my clothes in a trash bag
I've weathered all types of storms
I've clawed my way tooth and nail out of a pit of nothingness a few times
Just to make a difference, and I have
You know how many times I build things up just to watch it fall to rubble
Anything that was ever somethin' came from absolutely fuckin' nothin
So this goes out to anybody that comes from absolutely nothin
Keep your head up, you keep grindin
You push through all the obstacles
Straight up to it, right on through it
Look it in the eye and poke it in the nose
You'll make it, you'll see, never give up
Hahaha, Hitman, yeah, Xilla, alright
Country as a bowl of grits, known keep it thuggin' though
Everybody know I'm native, pull up on that buffalo
Doc gave me a double dose, he know that I'ma need it
Have my family speedin', run up in your house like what you eatin
If you speakin' my language, you better be with the shit
You a dog in the game, but you're surrounded by ticks
You'll be judged by the company you keep around
So ask yourself, who's gon' hold it down to let you drown
They bad news, only want you to lose
Stay watchin' your every move, don't let them get you confused
With the next man, the best plans are the ones you don't speak about
Let them doubt, I'ma keep it real, that's from the horse's mouth
I don't know you and you don't know me neither
Take a breather, smoke some reefer, I am Raps Brock Weaver
Flow's got a fever cause I'm sick with this pen game
My melody's unchained, red iron mustang
I ain't gotta fake it to make it, I'ma just do me
You barkin' up the wrong tree, askin' if you can call me
Gas tank was on E, eatin' cheese and bologna
Back then you didn't know me, now I'm hot, I'm your homie
Xilla took a different route, had to catch em by surprise
You can see the flames burnin' when you look into his eyes
You can try to take it from him, but I wouldn't even try
How the fuck you hurt a man when he's watched his soul die
You can get a fistful of meet, my pistol
Country folks will survive, and that's crystal
I'm not a country rapper, I'm a rapper from the country
5150, bitch, you don't wanna fuck with me
Hill Billy Hick, yeah, I live in Dixie Land
Earned everything I got, workin' with my fuckin' hands
Got that native in my blood, yeah, you wouldn't understand
Livin' gangster-ass, ties and drawin' lines in the sand
To tell y'all the truth, yeah, momma really tried
But I hopped off of that porch and I become a problem child
Livin' low class really made me want more than that
So I hit the road with my clothes in a trash bag
I've weathered all types of storms
I've clawed my way tooth and nail out of a pit of nothingness a few times
Just to make a difference, and I have
You know how many times I build things up just to watch it fall to rubble
Anything that was ever somethin' came from absolutely fuckin' nothin
So this goes out to anybody that comes from absolutely nothin
Keep your head up, you keep grindin
You push through all the obstacles
Straight up to it, right on through it
Look it in the eye and poke it in the nose
You'll make it, you'll see, never give up
