| You claim if you get knocked by the cops
|
| You’ll give 'em not even a statement
|
| Walk in the arraignment, shoot the bailiff
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| Karate kick the plaintiff
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| Gotti with the stainless
|
| I’ll just call it shoddy entertainment
|
| If y’all was in the party gettin' faded
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| On molly, had the audience sedated
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| You wouldn’t catch a body if it fainted
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| Probably let it fall and hit the pavement
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| But you’d be the first lobbyin' to claim it
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| Bitch, stop bein' a lame
|
| Your hobby isn’t robbery and dismemberin' body limbs
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| Like you was Tommy Lynn Sells
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| And chainsawing them in the basement
|
| Hardly fits your job description
|
| Ain’t nobody dippin' out the back of the club like, «Oh my God, he’s trippin'»
|
| Only time you get the blade is probably with the dang lawn equipment, ain’t it?
|
| Wouldn’t take a bobby pin and wave it
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| I need to stop bein' debated
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| You’re still copyin', Xeroxing, I’m still coppin' a feel
|
| Like Bill Cosby at will, popping a pill then spill Oxys in Jill’s coffee
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| Then send her out to the hotel lobby a lil' wobbly and still groggy
|
| This blonde fuck’s reprehensible misconducts, never sensible
|
| Kiss my butt, my set of principles is gone
|
| But 'til I get the President to respond
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| My pen and pencil is a missile launcher
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| And send it to Mitch McConnell
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| Just as big of a bitch as Donald
|
| Shit’s on, bruh
|
| Let me sing this shit soprano
|
| While I do it pizzicato
|
| Ivanka, stiff arm her
|
| While I’m hittin' on Melania
|
| And this song’s for all ya
|
| 'Cause nobody likes me, everybody hates me
|
| They want me to go eat some worms
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| And drag my name through the mud, through the dirt
|
| But I’ma make you eat your words
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| You can try to hold me down, but you better let me up
|
| 'Cause you’re only gonna make things worse
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| 'Cause I swear when I get up I’m never gonna let up
|
| 'Til everybody eats my turds
|
| These drums and hard snares bring out the worst in me
|
| Like Justin Ross Harris at a nursery
|
| Goin' ham at candy yam on nanny cam
|
| I’m gettin' handys with the zanny Xannys in the Caddy armrest
|
| I’m imagining objects, so I’m batting cobwebs
|
| From a daddy longleg
|
| And Hamtramck, got the panoramic camera
|
| Xanax, a banana hammock and a Santa hat
|
| I’m smellin' like a damn mechanic
|
| With a chick that looks like Janet Jackson with a Spanish accent
|
| Twice her age and I’m actin' half it
|
| Grow up? |
| Nah
|
| Not that I know of, y’all
|
| Basement just got a frickin' overhaul, got a stripper pole installed
|
| Started rollin' all through those Kolonopins like a bowlin' ball
|
| Like an overdose on twice the ratio of Propofol and go through no withdrawal
|
| While I get fellatio and give a facial to an interracial blow-up doll of Rachel
|
| Dolezal
|
| You’re so appalled, so’s my manager
|
| Bitch I’m amateur, fuck a pro career
|
| Coast is clear, but nowhere to go from here
|
| And nobody’s close, so don’t compare
|
| They ain’t nowhere near, I’m way over here
|
| My competition can’t see me
|
| 'Cause I don’t own a mirror
|
| But Marshall, you are terrific, so smart and gifted
|
| I’m so narcissistic, when I fart, I sniff it
|
| Do a fake dab to smell my armpits with it
|
| Your anxiety’s throwin' gang signs
|
| But I made strides with these rape lines
|
| I’m cuttin' back on women hate crimes
|
| Like Ray Rice when he FaceTimes
|
| Bang, bang, bang, bang time
|
| Dang knives’ll butcher them gay wives
|
| You’re gonna need sutures the same size
|
| As the blade I push into captcha
|
| When I pull 'em like sleigh rides
|
| Gotta stab a bitch at least eight times
|
| To make it on Dateline
|
| I came to stake my claim like a canine
|
| Waitin' in a buffet line
|
| So Kellyanne Conway, I’m a really bad hombre
|
| Come play, belly dance on me
|
| I’ve been making wedding plans all day
|
| 'Cause nobody likes me, everybody hates me
|
| They want me to go eat some worms
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| And drag my name through the mud, through the dirt
|
| But I’ma make you eat your words
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| You can try to hold me down, but you better let me up
|
| 'Cause you’re only gonna make things worse
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| 'Cause I swear when I get up I’m never gonna let up
|
| 'Til everybody eats my turds
|
| Eight year old with the wordplay |
| Girl, take this pole like a survey
|
| Today wasn’t my birthday
|
| But I’m caked up like a dessert tray
|
| So we’re in shape
|
| 'Cause you’re in a slurrin' state
|
| I’m a ten, you’re an eight, like what I do before, after, and during rape
|
| You wanna get into a pissin' contest and find out who’s better?
|
| And they made a fool out of what I pulled out him
|
| R. Kelly with a full bladder
|
| Non-high school grad, I’m not a scholar
|
| But I’m so cold when I’m droppin' knowledge my degrees
|
| It’s the same as I got in college (zero)
|
| But nobody’s hotter, you owe me my respect
|
| I owe you nada like Haloti, partner blow me
|
| Told you I’m so dirty, homie you can throw me in some holy water
|
| With some floaties on
|
| And get the soap, and try to get the Pope to hold me
|
| While you hose me off And nope I won’t be washed
|
| You hope to God I don’t explode, I gotta blow this spot up, though
|
| I got a lotta more
|
| I won’t put the sugar coating on it though
|
| 'Cause sometimes you can feel like your energy’s expired
|
| Rap’s got you drained, dead tired, zapped
|
| You feel like a wet pile of crap
|
| But look, man, like the feds buggin' my phone, uh huh
|
| I get why you’re tapped
|
| But you gotta get your fire back
|
| Catch fire, get upset and fire back
|
| Is what I tell myself
|
| When times get bad
|
| 'Cause sometimes I might get sad
|
| But I take the same advice I had
|
| And tell myself like I used to tell Hailie, when life’s a drag
|
| Told her to do like her dad, don’t cry, get mad
|
| 'Cause little baby powders belong in diaper bags
|
| I’m hyper, by the time you see this side of me
|
| I’m right in your ass (sodomy)
|
| 'Fore the pen, I stood up for the kid who had to put up with the bullies at his
|
| school (at his school)
|
| You ain’t have to have no money or go shoppin' just to cop a fuckin' attitude
|
| Now my dough’s amountin' to a mountain, it’s rised too high to count it
|
| Never asked to be rich, all I did was wish I had a dime for every time that I
|
| was doubted
|
| But then I think about it and I’m enraged
|
| 'Cause I just figured out that if I was paid
|
| For the time I spent to put the pen to the page
|
| It’d be minimum wage
|
| But it’s embedded in my head. |
| I never hunted for the bread and butter
|
| What I wanted was to be the one that they were scared of
|
| But I’m never gonna get the credit for the sweat and blood I put up in the pen
|
| And when I’m dead I wonder will they put me on a pedestal
|
| Or forget I was ever this incredible
|
| I guess I better go harder than ever 'cause I’ll never get
|
| Another motherfuckin' opportunity again
|
| To offend as many people with this I can, simply because I can
|
| 'Cause nobody likes me, everybody hates me
|
| They want me to go eat some worms
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| And drag my name through the mud, through the dirt
|
| But I’ma make you eat your words
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| You can try to hold me down, but you better let me up
|
| 'Cause you’re only gonna make things worse
|
| (I hope you offended)
|
| 'Cause I swear when I get up I’m never gonna let up
|
| 'Til everybody eats my turds |