Wuf Ticket | Ya Mama

Listen to Wuf Ticket | Ya Mama

Listen to the funky music Wuf Ticket | Ya Mama.

For all the mamas!

I hate to talk about you bad but you blow my mind;
sometimes the things you say are way outa line.
You like to put me down but not to my face,
So I think it’s about time I put you in your place!
You see Im so slick, I got so much style,
I can out-rap you by a country mile,
So just sit down, son, and watch me smoke,
Check out my style, and take some notes

Aw, notes from you, I don’t need
But I can take ‘em if I had to; at least I can read,
And when it comes to rappin, you can’t compare;
I can out-rap you anytime, anywhere.

Aw come on, man, you know you can’t compete;
You’re not fast enough. You gotta think on your feet.
The style I’ve got, you don’t half-have!
I’ll make you sound so bad, It make YO MAMA laugh!

Well all right, Jack! You think that you’re so bad,
Always runnin it down about the things you have.
You got more style, superior taste–
You got bad breath! Get out my face!

My breath ain’t strong but your face is all wrong.
Your head’s too big; you got a nose like a pig.
You got a lot of nerve to talk about me!
At least my family don’t live in a tree.

You live in a tree; you eat coconuts!
And your whole family’s got buffalo butts.
When you sit down, you need TWO seats.
Extra strong to hold all that meat.

Well, that’s not bad, son, but don’t press your luck,
‘Cause you and yours got butts like ducks.
You got faces to match, with little-bitty eyes.
If I looked like you, I’d run and hide.

I know you figure that, but I don’t know why
Cause the way you look, you make babies cry.

I make babies cry, but when you make the scene,
They pass out and the girls all scream.

With me they scream, but not from fright;
With me they scream with sheer delight.
You can’t out-rap me, not at all.
You need some help? I think you better call–