| Uh, was always smartmouthed and quick-witted
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| But somethin' was always missin' like six digits, lucky seven
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| Probably poppa, little nigga so they picked on him, hassled him
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| Things changed when I hassled back, so, David hit the pavement
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| With this grapple rap, Snapple fact: you rather wack
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| While I am poppin' like a snappin' crack
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| So high you could see like Tallahass, the opposite of cataracts
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| Matter fact I am Farmer John milkin' cattle tracks
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| Action packed nipple squeezin', boy colder than sniffle season
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| Simple genius, go hard and spit bits of semen
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| So when the street is split, don’t act surprised, agree with it
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| The gang of wolves that creeps in crypts
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| As deep as Dawson’s Creek and shit
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| I pray they got gills either that or grab some floaties
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| I know I got skills, why you think I’m posted boastin'?
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| Braggin', tell these faggots to stop naggin'
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| 'Cause them Wolf Gang niggas threw them off the bandwagon like
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| Uh, was always fucked up as shit with it
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| But I didn’t cross the line until the bridge hit it, troll
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| I got you niggas nervous like virgins flirtin' with Uncle Mervin
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| Fuckin' y’all with no lubricant, go grab the detergent
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| I preach to demons at your church, now I’m the newest sermon
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| Wearin' nothin' but they fuckin' blast with the matchin' turban
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| I drive through white suburbans in the black Suburban swervin'
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| Hittin' curbs and blastin' Erick Sermon, drunk off English bourbon
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| I’m stealin' purses, rapin' nurses, I’m a crooked surgeon
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| And treat the beat like sanitized Nazi puss, I’m a German
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| I’m squirtin' while I’m masturbatin' and regurgitatin'
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| From eatin' Miley Cyrus salad pussy platter they were servin'
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| My only purpose is to jerk it cause it has a curve
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| So bitches hate to do me like ex-convict community service
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| This my Zombie Circus, you better get a fuckin' ticket
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| Odd Future Wolf Gang, like they’re filmin' Twilight in this bitch
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| I’m back on my sixty six sick shit
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| Flowin' like the blood out the competition’s slit wrists
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| She lick it up, Dracula, then spit it back, back at ya
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| She mad as fuck, stuck in the back of a black Acura
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| Fed her acid now the duct tape quacks back at her
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| Hello Heather yellow feathers, now you ain’t laughin', huh?
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| Bitch, you’re barely breathin', leavin' on the back of the boat
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| While I fill you up with semen from the Wolf Gang team and
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| Flowin' like the creampie inside of your daughter
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| Oughta eat the bitch with salt and wash it down with a gallon of water
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| I grab the saw and sawed her arm off and auctioned it
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| And dip her teeth in gold molds and flossed the shit
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| Fuckin' awesome, spittin' box of trees, got you niggas
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| Shakin' like it’s Parkinsons from the clitoris of Kelly Clarkson’s dick
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| Ironin' you niggas now it’s time to starch the shit
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| Drown your bitch in a tub of cum and throw a shark in it
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| Find a random abandoned garage and go to park in it
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| Find Earl laying on the burgundy carpet, pull my knife out
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| Sharpen it, stab him, put a arch on it
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| Pour unleaded gas on him, get the Zippo and spark the shit
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| Hop back in the van and then depart the bitch
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| Killed him on his own track, the faggot shouldn’t have started it |