| And I’m close to the edge, so your parents can come push me
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| I curse so much just to get on they nerves
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| I got kids actin' a fool from the traps to the 'burbs
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| My filthy mouth, it won’t fight cavities or beat plaque
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| So I shot the tooth fairy and put my old teeth back
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| I take a shit on the equator, the size of a crater
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| And make government officials breathe harder than Darth Vader
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| It’s the chicken and the beer that makes Luda keep rappin'
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| But no pork on my fork, I don’t even speak pig Latin
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| I go fishin' on my lake, with yo bitch as the bait
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| Plus I eat many MCs, but I don’t gain no weight
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| The numba one chief rocka, clean out yo' rap lockers
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| I’m as stiff as a board, y’all more shook than maracas
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| But my trix ain’t for kids, if you dig’um you’ll get smacked
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| I’ll clock ya I’ll spring forward, you fall back
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| Every album that I drop has got more than ten bangers
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| That’s cause I’m a shot caller, y’all fools is Crank Yankers
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| Ain’t a damn thing changed but the ice on my chain
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| To get chicks from Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine
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| Now I roll up torpedoes, get blunted with rastas
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| For a hefty fee, I’m on your record like Bob Costas
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| I own so many jerseys, I’m a throwback mess
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| I hit the cleaners and tell 'em I want a full court press
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| So momma toast your glass while I’m countin' my cash
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| Cause every single is a smash, I’m hot as a camel’s ass
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| The competition never just wanna admit that they lost
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| And that they last about as long as my part in the wash
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| From yo' car to a crap game, no one rolls wit’chu
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| One of Mini Me’s shoes got more sole than you
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| So by the time you figure out why your record ain’t spinnin'
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| I’m in the strip club smokin', with President Clinton
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| So stand clear of the long sideburns and goatee
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| They made the mold of the penis enlarger off me
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| I’ll be in another room when I hit from the back
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| Not to mention my refrigerator’s taller than Shaq
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| So yippie kay yay, yippie yie yie yo
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| If you can’t swim, don’t smoke my hydro
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| I’ve been lookin for a woman just to put my stamp on
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| But a lot of y’all are mo' stuck up than tampons
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| So wash all ya sins away and stop playin'
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| If God’s line is busy you might have to two way him
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| Then catch me in your backyard, playin' croquet
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| And when I’m drunk tell them kids, drugs are bad, mmm’kay?
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| Or watch me swing my chain at the Roscoe’s off Pico
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| Got seven cars, get all my rims at Chrome Depot
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| And people think I’m bad, they say «Oh he’s so Evil!»
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| Cause I go on blind dates, with actual blind people
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| But my album’s out the store, yours be on the shelf
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| I heard you masturbate a lot, so y’all keep to yourself
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| Cause these women want a man that stay up and stay strong
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| Like the NBA, you gotta play hard or go home
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| All that shit that y’all talkin', y’all can pop it to them
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| Cause Ludacris’ll beat you down with a prosthetic limb
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| I put my foot so deep in yo' ass that you can smell it
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| And yo' breath will turn to Foot Locker water repellant
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| I’m the man, I got money far as the eyes can see
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| And I’m in a group, I split dough with me, me and me
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| So much money in my jewelry that I’m damn near sorry
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| So I’mma trade my earrings in, and get a Ferrari
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| I buy cars with straight cash, have meetings with Donald Trump
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| Y’all meet with Honda, no payments for 12 months
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| Take a look at yo' life, and no wonder you so sad
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| Y’all put up with more shit than a colostomy bag, fool |