| We arrive with the sun smog up in the vintage London fog
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| I’m fuckin your G after you took her to miniature golf
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| From the floor of this shitty-ass kitchen
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| I’ve seen iller cats in my general Tso’s chicken
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| And your dogs is in the black bee sauce
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| Fuck the wrong bitch raw and have your dick bound up in gauze
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| I’m not worried bout no air time
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| I’m more concerned about when my bald spot’ll reach my hairline
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| Cats be stuck on that Grinch colored lie
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| With one bloodshot and a twitch up in the other eye
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| So you get stuck by the strong safety
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| When you a serial killer clown like John Wayne Gacy
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| Donate that track to charity
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| Watch it become a TRL calamity, soon to be parodied
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| I stay married, to some D-cup breasteses
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| With music, weed, and porno as my mistresses
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| We all weirdos, anti-hero's
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| The ones your moms said wouldn’t amount to fuckin zero
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| Flaws in the laws, can’t be downed by it
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| Stalk through life with a quiet defiance
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| We all weirdos, anti-hero's
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| The ones your moms said wouldn’t amount to fuckin zero
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| So much hip-hop bullshit to cut through
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| And if you don’t like it, well then fuck you!
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| Lovin sluts when they IQ’s under three
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| They suck cock and rock a 34 double-D (uh-huh)
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| Earth will crumble under me
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| And the moon will plummet to the sea before you cats are soning me
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| I’m who rappers come see when they want heat
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| If you had traces of Copywrite in your sperm you couldn’t compete
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| So fuck you, your mom, and your team of pawns
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| And if you don’t believe in God, then you’re callin me a fraud
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| Outlawed, for disturbin the peace in synagogues
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| I’m rollin with a crew that look like fuckin Sweathogs
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| Endin up strapped to hospital gurneys
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| With a stage show resemblin some «Weekend at Bernie’s»
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| Straight from «The Dead Zone» with ten poems
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| Of dead tomes, now they gotta reinvent foes
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| Since a child, my got porn rolls on file
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| That’s why I filmed your bitch with «Girls Gone Wild»
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| Fuckin coward; |
| I got priests and nuns lovin Tower
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| If it ain’t about rap or pussy, I don’t give a fuck about it
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| Written for written, you can’t front, your clan sucks
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| Fuck it here, spit my written, I’ll come off the head like dandruff
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| Searchin the trunk of your Benz for money to spend
|
| I’ll steal from anybody especially one of my friends
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| That goes double for that bitch you share your microphone with
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| And those dumb enough to believe she writes her own shit
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| You ain’t no enemy, my friends are worse
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| Got a memory with an endless verse
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| To serve any emcee within this earth
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| Whether kin to me, or friend since birth
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| I’ll kill you, hop in a rented jeep, rear-end your hearse
|
| Recite sinister quotes
|
| Minutes before I slice your minister’s throat
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| With a miniature sword
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| So where my local whores with open sores
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| That want Copywrite semen to marinate they vocal chords? |