Fish Head Stew Songtext / Lyric

[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