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whatcha wan do (alternate version) - dj quik & kurupt lyrics

[intro: problem]
let’s get it hot
problem, kurupt, quik
swag meter up, let’s fly

[verse 1: problem]
huh, all i do is f-ck a b-tch
she ain’t wit’ it? then it’s ‘f-ck the b-tch’
get the next yamp, hit the next yamp
pull it out and bust right on her tramp stamp
ha, that’s that tat that’s above her -ss
it’s her n-gga name, let me cover that
squirt—after that, ain’t no coming back
man, you know i hit them holes like a running back
problem, n-gga, i stay in that gucci sh-t, louis sh-t
i get drunk, might get your coochie l!cked
ha, i’ma keep it way clean though
with my tongue, i get ‘em wetter than nemo
cancerous flow, a n-gga need chemo
fly like an eagle with big -ss debo
make that thang sang like peabo
bryson, while i’m biting on your ear like i’m tyson

[chorus: problem + (female)]
what you really wanna do? (what you really wanna do?)
what you really wanna do? (what you really wanna do?)
what you really wanna do? (what you really wanna do?)
what you really wanna do? (what you really wanna do?)
tryna drink, tryna smoke (yeah)
and after that, tryna poke (yeah)
i’m tryna drink, i’m tryna smoke (yeah)
and after that, i’m tryna poke, biatch (what you really wanna do?)

[verse 2: kurupt]
what’s this supposed to be? who you supposed to break?
who you supposed to be? what you supposed to take?
you think i give a sh-t? man, you’re wrong
it don’t matter if you got a bra on, thong on only
see, i do it by my lonely
make your best friend wanna bone me
all up on me, wanna bone me, all on me
stop—think about why
is it the d-ck, the grip, the expenditure of chips?
my clique, me and dj quik, b-tch, what it is?
tell the truth and shame the m-th-f-ckin’ devil, hoe
or get hit until you got sense, ‘cause you ain’t got sh-t
i got a lotta somethin’ for ya though (what?) d-ck
now p-ss it to your friend—now what you wanna do?

[verse 3: dj quik]
throw your hands in the hair
and let me split your little middle part right up to the hairs
me and your p-ssy was made for each other
up above the covers in our sheepskin rubbers
i got two friends, girl, and they my nuts (just two)
and all my ex-girlfriends hate my guts (that’s you)
they out the pond but they still my ducks
and even though we don’t f-ck, they still f-cked up
because they know i hit the p-ssy like an easy pitch
i take a church girl and make her a sleazy b-tch
i put out my own records so i’m easy rich
and i’m reppin’ like i’m ruthless so i’m eazy quik
now let’s f-ck one time for mister eric wright
let’s f-ck two times for mausberg (tight)
let’s f-ck three times, ‘cause three-pack rubbers cost $3.29
and i know you drink wine, so fine

(what you really wanna do?)

- dj quik kurupt lyrics

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