| I’m a wood peckin’peckerwood
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| Take me out, ya never could
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| Act up in my neighbourhood
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| You better not, my aim is good
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| The House Of Pain is not a gang
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| Just a funky Irish name
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| A Celtic savage makin’cabbage
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| With corn beef on the side
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| Irish pride is what I got
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| I got alot so don’t dispute it Constantly I’m zooted
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| If ya got a gun then shoot it Pick any beat I rock it
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| I’m always in the pocket
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| You try to ill, I grab my gat
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| And now you see me cock it Next I pull the trigger
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| I don’t care if you’re bigger
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| You try to con yourself you’re bulletproof
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| But how ya figure?
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| The caps that I’ll be poppin'
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| They’ll have your body droppin'
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| You thought you knew the deal
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| But now you feel your heartbeat stoppin'
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| I’m moppin’up the comp
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| That’s short for compitition
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| I write my lyrics like
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| The Irish mob in Hell’s Kitchen
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| The House Of Pain in effect, y’all
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| I say the House Of Pain is in effect
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| You know the House Of Pain is in effect y’all
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| And anyone that steps up in gettin’wrecked
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| I’m a beer drinkin’fighter
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| The bike in Easy Rider
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| I only roll my spliffs
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| With the extra easy riders
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| Papers to vapours
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| Is what you’ll all be catchin'
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| Meanwhile I’ll be snatchin'
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| Up your hoes and all your dough
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| The styles that I’ll be kickin'
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| You know they’re finger lickin'
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| Good, the peckerwood never could play the victim
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| Only the offender
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| I go out on a bender
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| Drink a case of brew
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| And then disgrace the crew
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| But only if it’s Mickey’s
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| I never wear no dickeys
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| Only wear the Levi’s
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| My whole family cries |