Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Hollywood Undead
Hollywood Undead
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Deuce
Deuce
Composer
J-Dog
J-Dog
Composer
Johnny 3 Tears
Johnny 3 Tears
Composer
Charlie Scene
Charlie Scene
Composer

Lyrics

Tear it up, tear it up, yeah Tear it up, tear it up, yeah Tear it up, tear it up, yeah Here we go now, here we go So don't make me tear it up You know I don't give a fuck And I ain't here to shake things up But I got my hand on my gun So don't make me tear it up You know I don't give a fuck And I ain't here to shake things up But I got my hand on my gun I beat the pussy up like Ying Yang Put it right thurr like Ching-Chang, you know I make our shit bang You know I don't give a motherfuck about your first name I wanna lock that ass like a motherfucking chain-gang Tear it up, stand up and throw it up And tear up the floor like you don't give a fuck I know you got heels on, I know what you're feeling They caught us riding dirtier and they're bumping Chamillion I got a bounty on my head just for repping Undead Because I'm freaking on your sister and I'm grinding her friend And what the fuck you think? I'm trying to make 'em sweat like a motherfucking track meet J-D-O-G, I got your girl on the leash I got her fiending and the whole crowd's screaming Shake it like a what? Fuck you HU crew, we don't give a fuck, what? What? So don't make me tear it up You know I don't give a fuck And I ain't here to shake things up But I got my hand on my gun So don't make me tear it up You know I don't give a fuck And I ain't here to shake things up But I got my hand on my gun Shake it like a what? Fuck you Shake it like a what? Fuck you Shake it like a what? Fuck you Shake it like a what? Fuck you No, I ain't a gangsta, don't pack a pistol Motherfuckers keep running mouth, motherfuckers catch a fistful Guided like a missile from two bottles of Jack That I drank in the back of an '88 Cadillac It's Johnny 3, Johnny sees what Johnny needs Johnny breathes weed, still, Johnny don't see anything Johnny buys drink, Johnny winks and Johnny thinks Johnny circles dance floor like roller rink Jump up, down; down in the H-Town, get down To the sound that's bound to make the motherfucking crowd loud Wanna see you move, yeah, move to the music Wanna see you booze, yeah, booze till you puke it See bitch, grab ass, get smacked to the mat Get up, slap back, get thrown out the back But you're back through the backdoor, back to the dance floor Gotta, gotta get mine; gotta, gotta get more So don't make me tear it up You know I don't give a fuck And I ain't here to shake things up But I got my hand on my gun So don't make me tear it up You know I don't give a fuck And I ain't here to shake things up But I got my hand on my gun Hell yeah, motherfucker, turn it up Turn it up, Focus Three; fuck you, Jeff Peters Fuck you, Mike Renault, gangstas up in this bitch You gotta ride to die, fuck yeah
Writer(s): Aron Erlichman, Jorel Decker, George Arthur Ragan, Jordon Kristopher Terrell Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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