| I keep it frozen butter soft
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| Stop rappin' and up your game in the art of fuckin' off
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| And when you’ve gone, I’ll lift me jug of
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| Quaff too much and cough
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| Then blaze a sack and take a nap
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| I don’t even leave the pad unless I’m gettin' paid to rap
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| Big dog, frying bacon, As-Salaam-Alaikum
|
| Naysayers try and break him
|
| Unaware Dr Scott rhymes with Satan
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| Well no it doesn’t but I’m stompin' through your village on a llama with your
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| Ma Dukes
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| Who let that from Blah loose with pyah juice?
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| Like Bishop with a Tropicana, alls these bitches want is drama
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| Luke, I am not your father
|
| The cash accumulates while I’m steady killin' it at funeral pace
|
| But don’t be fooled to move and lose your place
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| Charmed by the mutants human traits
|
| Walk into the light, the newer you awaits
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| Same look, different caption
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| If you didn’t take a picture for Facebook, it didn’t happen
|
| Now play somethin' while I BASE jump into a shallow bath
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| I hear destruction’s at the bottom of this narrow path
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| That’s the sound of their feet talkin', (keep walkin')
|
| A tadpole swims into a supermassive black hole
|
| An old man takes his last stroll, and he’s done
|
| Argyreia nervosa, it’s gettin' colder
|
| Rockin' back and forth until the Earth’s closer to the sun
|
| Tippin' a toaster for a crumb
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| Writin' depressive poetry for fun
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| Glum with a smile
|
| Their answer to everything is sendin' in a soldier with a gun
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| Dumb |