Man's World-Buddha Monk/Ol' Dirty Bastard

Man's World - Buddha Monk (Intro: (James Brown sample) Buddha Monk) (It's time to dance, it's time to dance) (Chorus: (James Brown sample) Buddha Monk) (This is a man's world) I shot ya... (Somebody better call the doctor) (This is a man's world) I shot ya... (Somebody better call the doctor) (Buddha Monk) How dare ya'll cats try to front on me Thinkin' like, you the sh*t, that's why you better than me? Check it, I got sixteen that'll split six spleen And definetly hollow points, so you can get my point, ni**a I ain't worried about buying no cars and sh*t I just walk around the corner, and take your sh*t Go ask the hood, do the Monk guns bark (ask them) Go ask my hood, am I a True and Living God (peace God) The answer you'll get, don't f**k with him Do you wanna live, man, don't f**k with him You'll also get the haters and gun fakers Yea, I shot at them, that's why they all f**king haters And I'm sure you'll wanna be like me Cuz you told your b**ch, and last night she told me Motel 6 and I wanna thank you for your b**ch You can have her back, she's all yours, b**ch I come from a land where gangs don't play D tuck block and g's w**d cops See that kid on the block, sagitarrius that hate you Shhh, don't say nothing, I hate you too, faggot You ain't a man, you still a pea shooter buck Shut the f**k up, before this man f**k you up I'm serious, this is my world, stay out of my ring mic I bite your ear off and feed it to your f**king wife, ni**a (Chorus) (Buddha Monk) What you think I'm playing, oh you think it's a joke Take two of these and feel these notes I was born in a world with a silver spoon bent Wooden spoons disrespect, across your chin Pops standing on the corner with a hand full of gin Shake, rattle them dice, I need chicken in the fridge And my bids, I don't do skid bits I get football numbers to counter your wrist You can party at the rastas, Asta Spumanti Shine two women in the club, while puff leaves your lungs It ain't where you from, it's where's your gun And where's your heart Fighting is for fun, but busting is a gun art I'm anoid by ya'll, seven scores by ya'll Meaning the war I got with ya'll was made by ya'll See what causes friction was the slick talking the talk Your walk became important, cuz it's when the guns talk I'm a big guy, and ducking they knives Snipe one off, pick you up, go head, let the shells fly You ready to die, not ready as I, come on Tell the truth, you want the days to go by, right? Let no man, f**k with G-Monks Got them thang-thang niggaz, that'll put a ni**a under, for real You wonder, how you got the case of runs of Gun diarrhea, now I'm dancing with thieves, yup! (Chorus 2X)