The best

Does anyone remember this classic Juice song?


Verse One:

It was all a dream.
I used to read Muscle Media magazine,
Little Bill’s punk crew up in the limousine,
Arnold pictures on my wall.
Every Saturday, WHACK! attack, Lee Haney balls to the wall.
Didn’t leave my squat rack 'till my legs popped.
Getting mean and jacked from the juices I stacked
Way back, when I had the red and black lumberjack
One-inch syringe to match.
Remember chunky puke from Anadrol?
You never thought being 250 would fuck up your balls.
Now I’m in the limelight, ‘cause I train tight.
Time to get paid, blow up like the World Trade.
Tribex, Grow!, and Power in my liver…
Remember when I used to eat D-bols for dinner?
Peace to Charlie P, Ian King, Brian B,
Tim Patterson, Montana, TC
T-rone’s blowin’ up like you thought it would.
Dial the crib—same number, same hood.
It’s all good!

Uh, and if you don’t juice, you don’t know, sucker. Uh.


You know who you are, my Anadrol.
I take a few, but not too many.
They keep me strong,
and benching plenty.

Verse Two:

I made the change from a skinny geek
To up close and personal with all the freaks.
And I’m far from fish,
I keep D-bols on my dish all day.
Bitch tits is the Strong Isle way.
The sustenon and x-tasy keep me dizzy.
Girls always kiss me,
Know I’m on deca when I’m frisky.
I never thought it could happen, this juicin’ stuff.
I was too used to EAS and stuff.
Now homies play me close like butter plate toast,
From Colorado down to the East Coast.
Clenbuterols in Queens, Primo for weeks.
No more plates, heads screamin’, “You’re a freak!”
Livin’ life without fear, puttin’ five drols in my homeboy’s beer,
Lunches, brunches, power rack by the pool,
Considered a fool 'cause I juiced out of high school.
Stereotypes of a juice-head misunderstood,
And it’s still all good.

Uh, and if you don’t juice, you don’t know, sucker. Uh.


Verse Three:

EAS creatine monohydrate,
Shootin’ enathate made my heart rate great.
Two-inch gauge, insulin in my veins.
Fuck an ulcer, look at these gains.
Bench press about eight plates flat,
No need to worry, all of WHACK! pushes that.
And my whole krew is juicin’,
Celebratin’ every day, grillin’ chicken in the kitchen.
Thinkin’ back before I shrank my sack,
Since we formed WHACK!, T-rone got our back!
And they love to publish us, of course,
Smiles every time they here we’re back on the sauce.
We used to fuss when the juice-heads dissed us.
No bench, wonder why 400 missed us.
Squat days were the worst days.
Now we rep five plates on the light days.
Damn right I like the life I live,
'Cause my urine went from negative to positive,
And we still all jacked.

Uh, and if you don’t juice, you don’t know, sucker. Uh.


Uh, representin’ T-rone in the house, WHACK!, Deer Park Gold’s.

Uh, yeah.

AHHHH…it doesn’t get any better than that.


Is that why they called Him Biggie?