作词 : QDIII, Smith 作曲 : LL Cool J & QD3 Yeah, man the flavor, flavor Yeah, ah yeah, who we doing? Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Ninety-three comin' off with the flicks and the rough **** Packin' ****** kicks with black pits, saber tooth, the truth, ha-coot Spit the juice and let the hot-ass-lead-loose Let it fly, betty-bye if you're ready to die Kickin' your ass and you can ask Keith Sweat why? I make your Benz seem obsolete GRippin' your ass discretely, if you meet me Puttin' bullets holes in tents, no fingerprints You'll catch a slug in your ass while you jump the fence Another young black man just caught a case Not from ' Texa-mase' From gettin' funky like a staircase Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Yeah, what a scene, pullin' a TechWith an extra magazine out the baggy-ass jeans Wettin' up the block with mad Tech shots Drop the glock, puttin' crack heads in headlocks Like a cheetah with my dig-beaters Ten millimeter, buck, buckin' you down from my two-seater Rippin' **** for the brothers who ain't here Killin' bears and kickin' snitches right off the pier Glock full of guts, steady buckin' butts Lettin' moonlight in your head-pull-puds Def Jam in your ass for the jams You've got posse but are you nice with your hands? Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pickin' them up and the Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pickin' them up and the Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pickin' them up Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pick Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Draggin' your flower-ass rappers outta clubs Thinkin' it pay too much, wet 'em like a dove But in the slang, in the speech, in the style Connect, can never be ripped by a suburban child Gun smoke, bananza on the block, yeah When all the **** was dead, coulda did a bid Conferring emcee scramble, dismantle Never gamble and try to handle a vandal You'll catch a forty upside ya head with ya fake dreads Tryin' to front like you're packin' lead Dumb-dumbs are fine in a SpiroAnd now you got more beef than a jiro Peep the ballistic, kick, slick, quick, flip a script-a-slips But that ain't new ****, burnin' ya crib down I'm frontin' personal, he's hearin' how a nine sounds Busy-quizick, the disare is in fizz up his li-life, the visits was borin' Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down
作词 : QDIII, Smith 作曲 : LL Cool J & QD3 Yeah, man the flavor, flavor Yeah, ah yeah, who we doing? Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Ninety-three comin' off with the flicks and the rough **** Packin' ****** kicks with black pits, saber tooth, the truth, ha-coot Spit the juice and let the hot-ass-lead-loose Let it fly, betty-bye if you're ready to die Kickin' your ass and you can ask Keith Sweat why? I make your Benz seem obsolete GRippin' your ass discretely, if you meet me Puttin' bullets holes in tents, no fingerprints You'll catch a slug in your ass while you jump the fence Another young black man just caught a case Not from ' Texa-mase' From gettin' funky like a staircase Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Yeah, what a scene, pullin' a TechWith an extra magazine out the baggy-ass jeans Wettin' up the block with mad Tech shots Drop the glock, puttin' crack heads in headlocks Like a cheetah with my dig-beaters Ten millimeter, buck, buckin' you down from my two-seater Rippin' **** for the brothers who ain't here Killin' bears and kickin' snitches right off the pier Glock full of guts, steady buckin' butts Lettin' moonlight in your head-pull-puds Def Jam in your ass for the jams You've got posse but are you nice with your hands? Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pickin' them up and the Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pickin' them up and the Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pickin' them up Biggin' them up and the rippin' them up and the Shakin' them up and the pick Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Draggin' your flower-ass rappers outta clubs Thinkin' it pay too much, wet 'em like a dove But in the slang, in the speech, in the style Connect, can never be ripped by a suburban child Gun smoke, bananza on the block, yeah When all the **** was dead, coulda did a bid Conferring emcee scramble, dismantle Never gamble and try to handle a vandal You'll catch a forty upside ya head with ya fake dreads Tryin' to front like you're packin' lead Dumb-dumbs are fine in a SpiroAnd now you got more beef than a jiro Peep the ballistic, kick, slick, quick, flip a script-a-slips But that ain't new ****, burnin' ya crib down I'm frontin' personal, he's hearin' how a nine sounds Busy-quizick, the disare is in fizz up his li-life, the visits was borin' Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down Buck, buckin' em down, buck, buckin' em down
