Shut The Club Down
Krayzie Bone featuring Apollo Kreed,Lil Jon
Produced by: Lil Jon
-Lil Jon-Intro-
(Tear this bitch up, shut the club down) Ya nigga (Ya nigga...). It's ya boy Lil Jon (That's right) Eastside Boys (Ok) that nigga Krayzie Bone, let's do it!

I'mma rep my clique nigga, rep yo's

--Krayzie Bone-
Its Mista Sawed-Off LeathaFace, I'm finna take em to the underground/ A nigga come outta the park, doin a 100 miles/ I fuck around n run a nigga down/ Shut a mutha fucka down, nigga bring the whole buildin to the floor/ Make the real niggas ill n feel the flow/ Make the bitches get hot n get to takin off they clothes/ A couple'a shots n we all outta control/ No a nigga never studio!/ You can believe that we do what we do, we keepin it true, more realler than you/ Shakin the walls, up in this mothafucka, breakin they balls if they dont gimme mo money/ And nigga represent Tha ThugLine, and I do it cause I want mine/ I dont already done time, now I'm released and they be back up on the streets/ Send em back in the mix, in the middle of the shit, when I get a mutha fucka with a little bitta ends, and if I come back, they give a little bit of that/ When a nigga raps they tryna hang, they tryna maintain, they try to keep us where they like, muthafuckas wack!/ I'mma break it down to a nigga now, thats T-H-U-G-L-I-N-E, if any want drama, come suited in armor, and heavily heated, ready to bomb us/ But you betta bomb first, cause nigga we already got the hearse, sittin out on the curb/ Soon as I give em the word, niggas makin a push, with that AK47 jumpin outta the bush

Bone still doin it to em, no matter who in the room, or who in the buildin/ No matter who close the show/ You ask the mothafuckas who stole the dough/ We fold them hoes

-Lil Jon-Chorus-
Tear dis bitch up! Shut the club down!..../ I'mma rep my clique, nigga rep yo's!.....

-Apollo Kreed-
You better duck down when the sound blow/ Niggas throwin' them chairs and throwin' them bows, spillin Henn in your clothes (Pimpable ho's)/ This show got a gang of bad-ass hoes, out on the dance floor touchin they toes (And doin backbends)/ That's when I spring into action/ Twenty deep, you want beef we head bashin'/ Buy all the liquor to get this shit crackin'/ Naw, pimpin' ain't dead bitch so quit askin' (What) You was reppin' your clique? Well, quit slackin'/ I'm a rep mine reguardless with a passion/ Screamin' out "Eastside" haters start subtractin'/ (It's precious) And I handle them like a chain reaction/ We ain't got no problem shuttin' this shit down/ Kreed, Krayzie, Lil Jon, son of a bitch now/ You don't wanna start something you can't manage/ Tear the club up, we'll (?) for worth the damage/ You don't understand these crazy crunk antics/ Apollo Kreed step in the jam and hit a (?)/ But it ain't nothin, I just came to get rowdy and leave with a breeze/ And bound to come out, thats why (?) cash the (?)/ I told you, "Don't doubt me, hoe"/ We handle that drama shit right at the door and then get drunk until we can't no more/ Crank this up, and all the broads get low from the window to the wall, they claim you're too close/ Then push 'em up off you dog, get 'em up off me dog/ We pull pumps parallel to the floor/ Clean, head to toe, and free from the dro'/ If he want the beef bringin' the heat fo' sho' looks like a fo' fo'/ Blast better watch your ass cause when we tear this bitch up everything get smashed

-Chorus-

-Krayzie Bone-
Is yall really ready to tumble?/ Is yall really ready to rumble with the King Thugs of the jungle?!/ Tear the roof off n make the whole floor crumble/ Get em when I spit em with the thug flow/ Somebody better call the Po-Po, cause we aint playin/ Act like ya dont know, n I'll make ya understand/ Try to keep up to the rhythm of a man, that just like the wind/ They all like the Syn, n I'll blow you away/ Hey, who in this bitch wanna fumble with Kray, who in this bitch like to play with fire?/ I set em on fire, so high, I spit flames many miles an hour nigga/ With us or not, we givin em hell/ Niggas get they lumps, if I dont get my mail/ You can sit in the trunk, for a couple'a months/ So when the funk get heated, jump out and smell/ Come follow me now, so rollin up a fatty, cause I gotta get high, look in my eye/ Smoke it, choke it, zonin, couple'a hits to get fixed, and I'm goin, goin, gone! Bone still doin it to em, no matter who in the room, or who in the buildin/ No matter who close the show/ You ask the mutha fuckas who stole the dough/ You already know!

-Chorus-
Recorded for the soundtrack / Available on the mixtape