| Orange Porsche, I peel out like a kumquat
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| Sirens and gunshots
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| High-fives and nut shots
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| Bed knobs and broom sticks
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| High tops from sweat shops
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| Loitering in front of stores like the Redbox
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| Yellow-ass hating nigga, like Red Fox
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| The ghost-whisperer don’t even talk to dead cops
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| The Big Boss Man threw me in a headlock
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| While Sgt. |
| Slaughter went and hit me with the leg-drop
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| I’m Ted DiBiase fresh, while the Feds watch
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| As I grab on my crotch and the fans mosh
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| Living free, not a care in the world
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| Russian Roulette, I went bare in your girl
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| You could call me Leatherface, I’m wearing your girl
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| Out, All they found was her hair and a pearl
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| Wow
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| You need to get your evidence up
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| While these youngsters kill each other for 11s and such
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| I wrote a letter, it went, «Dear Mr. Officer
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| Get up off my dick, because it’s not a throat lozenge.»
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| I just met the girl, but I act like the boss of her
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| Pussy so big, if you blink, you’ll get lost her
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| Translation, I’m thinking bout tossing her
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| Hun’s a nun, but I’m thinking about crossing her
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| I got a shaved head, call me Andre Agassi
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| Like Jermaine Jackson’s son, Nacho’s your majesty
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| I cause carnage, Eddie Brock, Cletus Kasady
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| Guns and roses, these niggas ain’t Slash as me
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| The audacity to even try to rap to me
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| She thinking limo, but she looking like a cab to me
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| I’m hungry like the wolf, you looking like a slab of meat
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| Pause, paw prints on a pack of sweets
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| We don’t act discreet, full moon to packs and heat
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| Dollars making sense, Susan B. Anthony |