Parental Discretion

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Big Pun] Aiyyo, I'm hard to talk to If you live, I probably fought you Stalked you, where you walked through at night Caught you, then tried to extort you New York niggas is trigger happy, got Pataki scared This town ain't big enough for both of us, and I ain't goin' nowhere! There it is, plain and simple, like Jigga, my game is mental While slow niggas better know, I'll blow their brains out they temples I'm into black magical torture, romantic, dramatical author Compatible with the average New Yorker A fast talker, like Tony when he gassed Sosa The masked enforcer, out for the cash and the cho-cha Smash the coca, bottle it up, watch the fiends gobble it up If I roll up, you do what? Swallow the stuff! I don't give a fuck anymore I'm only 24 years old and I've already broken every law I'm horrorcore, this is for the heads Runnin' up in your crib now, if you still hidin' under the bed [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes! Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide! Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny! Little girls too – this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey! [Verse 2: Big Pun] Aiyyo, my shit's the truth, 150 proof, no question Parental discretion advised, keep out the eyes of the youth It's too explicit – bullshit! I challenge the statistics Violence existed before our music was even suggested Arrested on sight, it's like there's no rights That's why I rhyme so aggressive and bring every message to life I Fight the Power, spike the powder — the 90 percent Keep 10 and feed Twin half for personal reasons The seasons change, things rearrange, but I stay the same I played the game for the wealth until I've made myself a name So blame it all on the gangster rapper Thanks to Joey Crack for the chance to do it My Way like Frank Sinatra I ain't an actor, so it's all facts Strictly raw rap, totally intensive for y'all Dressed in all black, with the ski mask or the pantyhose Makin' cameos in liquor store cameras with the twin Calicos [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes! Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide! Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny! Little girls too – this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey! Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes! Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide! Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny! Little girls too – this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey! [Verse 3: Big Pun] So forget the boom, one look, you shook, you know I'm stickin' you Liftin' you off the ground, look down – that's where I'm puttin' you Look in my eyes and remember me How does it feel, mentally, havin' the enemy be the last thing you ever see? The recipe is death and I'm the chef fricassée'ing your flesh Be my guest, but I ain't cleanin' the mess Me and T.S., we testin' niggas' faith just to see their face Expression, we guest in the States to death, beatin' the case I'm in a state of grace, in a hated race, by the angered face Couldn't fight us, made a virus, gave us AIDS I paved the way, 'cause they ain't get me yet, wet me or affect me yet I know they comin', they just tryna let me sweat I recollect when I was just a boy, eatin' Chips Ahoy! Wasn't allowed to raise my voice, now I'm makin' noise No more toys, strictly MACs and missiles Shorties with 40's packin' pistols Catchin' bodies makes you official So they say, I pray there's a better way My kids don't do as I do, they do as I say 'Cause daddy don't play [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes! Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide! Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny! Little girls too – this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey! Parental discretion advised! Cover your eyes! Little kids — get out of here! This shit is homicide! Drugs and money, this ain't no Bugs Bunny! Little girls too – this ain't for you, it's for the thugs, honey! [Outro: Busta Rhymes] Word is bond One thing about MCs is that we don't conceal the truth We present real pictures about the positive and the negative So don't blame the Hip-Hop when your seed is learnin' the real life from us Do your duty at home and raise your child in the house Parents, you don't do your job – We gonna put your children to bed at 9 o'clock, past your bedtime Get your ass in bed, you ain't 'posed to be hearin' this shit Word up – Punishment, motherfuckers! By the Punisher and Busta Rhymes, hah Terror Squad! Flipmode Squad, niggas!