You Don't Wanna Fuck Wit These (Unreleased '93 Shit) Songtext / Lyric

[Ice Cube]

You don't wanna f**k wit these






You don't wanna f**k wit these

Run up you big-ass bitch and I'll have you clockin G's

Wit my knockout jab, mess around and stab

yo' ass in the gut, I don't give a f**k

Down with the brown, clownin these honkies

that got us in the mix with they 666

Tricks get found, stinkin like tuna

Bailin through your hood in my fresh suede Pumas

And I don't hit gates, nigga pump yo' brakes

cause I ain't runnin, you better start gunnin

Take your hand off your metal

There's nowhere to hide, cause the world is a ghetto

Want my afro long like Mad Dawg

on a velvet poster, 40 on the coaster

cause moms don't play that shit

Been hard on a nigga since (?)8-8-6(?)

Sayin you need Jesus, cause I got the fresh sweatshirt

with the three fat, creases

And it's on like that, nigga where you at?

At a phone booth, I'm comin in the Coupe

Beanie pull over, fool there they go

Drive real slow so we can let them hoes know

that G's even bust on L.A.P.D.'s

Make 'em eat cheese, cause they don't wanna f**k with these

And he don't wanna f**k wit these



I got mo' flavor than a hoe with a dick

and a stick of gum on her tongue, I get you sprung

with the psycho-alpha-disco, my fist go

in my pocket, grabbin on my pistol

But I won't pull it out til it's time to spit

Make the girls say, "Damn, niggaz can't have shit"

Cause I see Satan, waitin in the cut

for this black motherf**ker, to bail out his hut

And I don't give a mad-ass f**k

about a sheriff who's tryin to tear-off a (?)

My chinny chin chin hit him up with the right

and then I bend bend got his ass in my sight

My Chuck's hit the cement, then I bent the corner

Yellin, "+Cop Killer+, and f**k Time-Warner"

Got the wick-a-tick(?) niggaz say, damn he's so sweet

Hypnotize yo' ass like that shit "Knee Deep"

And you hate it, gang-affiliated

Niggaz be bumpin, just a little somethin

from that loc'ed out nigga that cater to the O.G.'s

And let you know, that you don't wanna f**k wit these

And you don't wanna f**k wit these

And you don't wanna f**k wit these



Rollin through the hood, when I see a bitch

I hit the switch, she's on my dick

Fresh t-shirt, thick like I hangs

They say I got St. Ide's rushin through my veins

from the CRASH units, all the way to Vice

They claimin Ice Cube, ain't nuttin nice

cause I keep hittin, f**k Bill Clinton

No repentin, just representin

I can walk through the park cause it's crazy after dark

Keep my hand on my gun, cause I ain't the one

Bang you're dead, brains out your head

I wish I was the nigga that invented infrared

Now I got it poppin but what's that odor?

Smells like a hot pot of that bakin soda

Cause I know nigs from A's to Z's slangin ki's

Sayin you don't wanna f**k wit these