Biatch,
What cha want to do?
What cha want to do?
We're the Legion of Doom.
We're the Legion of Doom.
We're the Legion of Doom.

Fourteen seventy-two is the same cut throat and locks,
And plenty dopes can you cope.
You can call me Count Chocula.
I control all the bitches, Chi-Chi control the riches,
And fly surf the snitches.

Look up in the sky as the fly,
My herion wip, clip on hip, now trip on this.
A bunch of outlaws try to take my town,
Set up shop, run me out, and cut me down.
And how that safe, when I'm the illa-superhero,
Born and raised on that muthafucking underground.
Brrrrbrrrrbrrrr, stick 'em, ha ha ha, stick 'em.
Try to catch me, slip 'em, but now you about to be my victim.
I'm not Aquaman, but a aqua-boogie.
I'm sorta like a monster, chasin' cookies,
And I spin a web any size, you can call me to fly.
I walk walls and this is for all my dogs.
(Woof!)
I'm like the wonder twins, my style activates.
The many niggas get in it, and try to playa hate.
It's fly, the rider Maine and Ri, (man, man.)
I do it like a muthafucking rider,
And I represent all the time and
I represent the mad ass fuckin' eastside.
(Eastside,) look out, look out, come out,
'Cause here comes the rider man,
(Rider man,) nigga.

I rock the blue cake on 'em, drop the weight on 'em.
The more they hate, the more I elevate on 'em.
I swerve and collect, serve and protect,
Never hit the streets without the ice on my neck.
I'm all about partying, hos, and getting paper.
They call me Chi-Chi and do it up, caped crusader.
Contact through the frame, no mistakes.
To bank rules, back in town and it's on us to shut 'em down.
Now fly what cha want to do, (nigga what.)

Let's put this shit down my lil' homey, Mr. Turner, with the murder.
He got my back, you know he put me up on game.
When they get up, they getting lit up, heat that shit up.
Enough said, don't tell it, jus' sell it.
We blowin' in the wind and we gonna ride till we win.
Young soldier, stickin' to it, we put the Folgers.
It's your turn gone get on up and get the light,
And don't forget to grab your strap.

[Chorus x 2]
Look up in the sky. It's a bird; no it ain't.
It's the Legion of Doom, ain't a damn thing changed.
Keep it safe and sound, get it locked down,
And you don't have to worry when we in your town.

Just a young muthafucker from the street,
Forced to be a G-angsta, knock-knock with a glock, pump-pump answer.
Throw your hands up, nigga, yeah, death's a callin'.
Went from petty deaf bank robber, straight to ballin'.
Stop with us, walk with us, as we bust through,
The doors, forties fallin', like parts in us off in dust.
Stereos got many holes in, plenty dope, plus we fly as fuck.
Duct tape while room up, toe tag 'em.
Have him feel the strength of a black magnum,
Body bag him, nobody is as bad as them.
As shown as them, set kissed like FM.
Life in 1-4-7 to the deuce, right then.
I slipped in the bullet-proof suit,
And swoop down on the bank ruler with the gats.
Waiting for the permission to cancel his ass,
Handle his ass.
I love to see his guts and his blood spill,
And cracked up as I drugged, as I rise flying up high with a forty-five.
If a red demon in it from the sky,
Drop and I put the barrel right between his eyes,
And said you fuck with the Legion and now you must die.
We serve and protect all the hustlers,
And G's from the west to the north, south and back to the east.

[Chorus x 2]

Look up in the sky, (in the sky.)
No it ain't, (no it ain't, no it ain't,)
Mean a damn thing changed, (changed, changed, changed.)
Got it locked down, (locked down, locked down,)
When we in your town, (in your town.)

Look up in the sky, (in the sky.)
No it ain't, (no it ain't, no it ain't,)
Mean a damn thing changed, (changed, changed, changed.)
Got it locked down, (locked down, locked down,)
And you won't have to worry when we in your town, (in your town....)

Writer : DUPRI, JERMAINE/MARTIN, CHRISTOPHER E/BROADUS, CALVIN
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, UNIVERSAL MUSIC-CAREERS