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Yo what up hops?
beer drinker link it to my drunk pops,
I won’t stop 'til on a lunch box,
this dumb thot,
juicy like a kumquat,
get loosy off of some squats,
then use me like a cum sock,
light as a feather, stiff as a board,
rock the finest leather while I’m dickin the whore,
her drawer drawer, filled with lace thongs,
when she forlorn, she play my great songs,
I work her core more than masterbation,
she hot like Cajun,
when I’m gone like Crayshawn,
we have relations, pat on the back Congradulations,
Happy as Adam Sandler,
rappin will have you slandered
half a handle he’s laughing cuz you can hand a candle,
or hold a torch,
bohold the polo horse,
with the corduroys,
Mr. Don’t Play like out of order toys,
whipped this beat up for the hell of,
then sent a text to my X, like Zev Love
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Internatioinal macking, I put my word on it,
pull up in the pub in Portland and put a bird on it
got a fur flaunt it,
fuck the PETA picketers,
say they hate my stuff but huh, they be the listeners,
They don’t know what it is, but he has it,
do a show for the kids, and leave after
I need green cabbage
not like B Rabbit,
Wolf of Wall Street, I’m more like Steve Madden,
Just for kicks,
I gotta custom fit, give my tux a spritz
more drugs than Cliff Hux’s chicks,
light six, my touch is midas,
because I’m high it’s
ruckus and violence,
Fuckers, get thrown out like Jazz
in the living room with Vivian, Phillin ass,
In Bell Air, a prince in my own mind,
it’s swell here, tell the princess the ho fine,
I’m due a mill, call me Daniel,
or Dufrain, pet the mane of a spaniel,
light a candle, feel the flame of the handle,
even in the sand, don’t wear sandels,
in the dunes, like a thuggin goon,
it’s custom, blunt guts and a love balloon,
fuck sluts,
and have none to prove,
it’s fun to do,
only numb nuts uncomfortable
wassup,
I bust and I bury it,
undergound, then run the tub man Harriet,
hairy slit, wear a condom, spare the kid,
modern Sodom, i’m like Gollum in my chariot,
Look at precious,
in the necklace,
i’m not sexist,
cause I wanna sex this,
she's living reckless,
don’t read her textes,
south bi, a toast to Ms Texas
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Stop me if I’ve told this one,
a rope walks into a bar and he orders one,
they said sorry you can’t take shots lasso,
he said no?, I’m afraid knot asshole
Then he pulled out a shooter six
it through ya rips
on the throne, like the Ruler Rick,
only use the moblie phone to get to ya chicks,
who can do the splits
lot of fish you choose ya pick,
like we out at the bunny ranch,
grew from word of mouth like the Shmoney Dance,
as I slid down her undie pants,
thought of Burgendy, murdering Kelly Bundy man,
from the Golden Gates to the Apple,
I been boom bappin
since Mrs. Crabapple,
A bad apple,
who tainted the Brady Bunch,
the step dad mack will tell Jane to make me lunch
banned from all bars
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Rock a cross stich fit from Manuel,
rhinestone, i’m stoned, let’s get the hand held,
and make a film feature,
35 milimeter,
heard he fill the seats up,
feel fur and slurp her D cups,
a Nasty native Nashvillian,
pass the grass and get paid in cash chilln,
yo he ready and willin,
been had the feeling since going steady as children,
but now they say hooking up,
since the days of white page they look in up,
sent home for looking drunk
7th grade my page got tookin up
long before the days of the task force,
had a crash course, should of been in class more,
but I was skipping and sippin,
graduated middle, then I tripled my pimpin
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I gotta dog named Viktor,
It’s obvious, i like his scriptures,
Vaughn songs wearing long johns in winter,
eating won tons for dinner,
the con artist sinner
been bong bong since RZA,
before Rob Diggs,
turned into Bob Dig,
Clark Kent, been Supa,
scooping the harlets,
and do it faster than a speeding bullet,
he the truest,
get the ass and then he keep it moving,
and leap the buildings in a single bound,
raised a single child,
yo I’m out to get the Pringle pile,
my name is ringing out,
memorize and sing out loud
when I’m live I bring a crowd
you can feel it in your tingling mouth,
Cause the words matter,
like the first Atom, tell the girl Madam,
demigod, I’ll curl Saturn,
with more steelo than Chris Rios, in 93 yo,
dios mios, bumpin Lito in a fuckin Regal,
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