| Listening to Christopher Wallace, wait, hold up, it’s the holidays
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| Put on Run-DMC, Christmas in Hollis
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| And if you’re rocking a yamaka happy Hanukkah
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| There’s icicles hanging from the roof and gutters, and snow on the thermometer
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| Jack Frost, he a cold man
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| Snow White ho looking for blow from Frosty the Snowman
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| Kris Kringle is a bitch, I kicked him in his big drawers
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| I visit Miss Claus, got her clothes ripped off
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| But that old bitch got my dick soft, now the elves are pissed off
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| Santa’s big ass look like a white Rick Ross
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| Sugar pancakes, syrup and marshmallows in the yams
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| I got a pair of Puma sneakers, look like MC Shan
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| In school we’d make fun of kids that were Jehovah’s Witness
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| Cause they couldn’t celebrate Halloween, birthdays and Christmas
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| Now I’m kissing the clit, she bleeded, what the hell, gross
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| Come out the pussy looking like Rudolph with the red nose
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| Train sets, toy trucks from Tonka, Italianos mangia
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| My black people light a candle for Kwanzaa
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| I don’t care if I get coal for stocking stuffers
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| I’mma find Santa’s little helpers and midget toss the motherfuckers
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| Go Jesus, it’s your birthday!
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| Go Jesus, it’s your birthday!
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| Go Jesus, it’s your birthday!
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| Go Jesus, go Jesus!
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| Sleigh bells jing-jingling, front door ring-dingling
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| Kids singing in the bling-bling sickening
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| D-flicks, silent night, deadly night, church picketing
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| Hannukah menorah candle light flickering
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| Families bickering, let me spin the hot bar
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| Rockstar, where my Muslims? |
| Allah Akbar!
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| Want a walkman, a VCR, wait, time out
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| I want a Red Ryder BB Gun to shoot my eye out
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| The big Christmas picture is ridiculous
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| Santa Claus is based on a Catholic bishop named Saint Nicholas
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| Years before he was at the North Pole chilling
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| He was rumoured to resurrect the bodies of mutilated children
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| But it’s Christmas and my little niece got Bieber fever
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| I’m in L. A, I’ll pick her up the CD at Amoeba
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| I hate to bring the new year in with a dark side
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| But who gon' drop the ball in Times Square now that Dick Clark died?
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| C’mon, Get Poor or Die Tryin'
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| Consumerism is a new religion for the people in stores that lie crying
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| Praying, just wishing for a great sale
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| Traded in my '64 to listen to the sleigh bells
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| Fuck it, it’s the holidays bitch
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| I ain’t buying any presents, I’mma walk away rich
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| I mean I’m Satan Claus, I’m a selfish fuck
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| I ain’t giving any gifts to these helpless schmucks
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| Should I smack Grandma or let her talk instead
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| Bitch looks like she belongs on The Walking Dead
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| I can’t stuff her when words are in her mouth
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| I listen to that talking head, when I be burning down the house
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| I flame «fuck» to the mammoth elephant
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| The hammer fell, and then I cooked a little honey ham and gelatine
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| I blast, I burn in your heart, three dudes ringing your bell
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| Hoping they’re tools like Nebraska Furniture Mart
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| Oooooooh shit!
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| A lotta hippie bitches take molly, looking stupid with the glow sticks
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| You people never seen a boy like this
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| I punch your baby momma in the fucking muay Thai clinch
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| You need to stop looking at the toys I get
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| I’m the Grinch, penny-pinching every coin I flip
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| I’m a hip-hop head, I ain’t a hipster person
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| That watches The Office — the British version
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| (Go Jesus!) I’ll take you on a big excursion
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| Hopefully I’ll get the words in
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| But last year Santa ate the cookies and he dropped down the whiskey
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| So I’mma clap his ass when he come down the chimney
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| (Go Jesus!) Huh, It’s the exorcist
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| Are you a naughty ass bitch? |
| Let me check my list
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| I drink Jesus blood, and tell him to bless my piss
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| Mac Lethal, Rugged Man, here’s your X-mas gift! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Crustified Christmas (Clean) , by - R.A. The Rugged Man. Song from the album Crustified Christmas, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп