| Well guess who’s back off the couch, got the panties in a drought
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| Duct tape in Casey Anthony’s mouth
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| It’s Mr. «No-You're-Not Dude,» back with some hot new raps
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| For these kindergartners to smoke pot to
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| This shit’s changed since I came into the cypher
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| Because everyone was agro, now they’re all nicer
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| Pants used to sag low, now they’re all tighter
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| And the black dudes who rhyme are named Wayne and Tyler
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| Huh, we must’ve smoked something funky
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| Somewhere back there and we all got the munchies
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| Ate Hershey’s Cookies and Cream and got clumsy
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| ‘Cause there’s white wrappers everywhere and nobody’s hungry
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| You used to have to pay dues, they pay dudes
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| To get YouTube views while they play Beirut
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| Enabling fake crews to take spots
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| I heard Sam Adams and it made me miss Aesop Rock
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| Yeah the one-hit wonder guy who raps is back
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| To make your thunder thighs jiggle if your ass is fat
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| With some fact-packed, Anglo-Saxon backpacked tracks
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| My dishwasher’s got racks on racks
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| I got 'em like, «Gee willikers,» fuck that shit
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| I bet he doesn’t know any black kids
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| I got 'em like, «Gee golly,» man what a shit show
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| I knew I hated Spose from the get-go
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| Gee willikers, I know I can’t lose
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| Making rap songs that these strippers can’t dance to
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| Gee golly, I’m the same old cat
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| I, I, I, I keep it bimpin'
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| What’s up? |
| I’m Spose if you didn’t know
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| The representative of people who got little dough
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| And I never spit a rhyme trying to get a ho
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| I’m not trying to put the «big L» in Deuce Bigalow
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| Nor am I trying to be the hardest dude
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| Or act like, «It's all good, bro,» no barbecues
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| A grimy, major label signed me
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| To a situation hairy as vaginas in the 90s
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| Find me back in Maine cacklin'
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| Still got weed like «we would» as a contraction
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| I still sip ship yards pigs lingerin'
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| Spit bars back woods in my fingerprints
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| Some couplets I come up with seem funny
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| Other pairs are hair raising like I breed bunnies
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| I’m still ungroomed, I’m back in the flesh
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| I spit it raw, unbridled like a bachelorette
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| Check it I know that the folks don’t listen
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| Dissing — though other bros don’t spit efficient
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| Broke — had the soap, did dishes in kitchens
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| Hooks and a lure like this is fishing
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| I’m banking on taking the bacon and making a run for the gold
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| I been mistakenly taken for humorous
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| They been been assuming I’m making a joke, like…
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| Gee willikers, fuck that shit
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| I bet he doesn’t know any black kids
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| I got 'em like, «Gee golly,» man what a shit show
|
| I knew I hated Spose from the get-go
|
| Gee willikers, I know I can’t lose
|
| Making rap songs that these strippers can’t dance to
|
| Gee golly, I’m the same old cat
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| I, I, I, I keep it bimpin'
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| Chord change!
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| You’re now rocking with the town folks spokesman
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| Who girls think is too short but I’m not from Oakland
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| And it’s been years since I deposited tokens
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| But I’ve been in the game getting bread, you’re just loafin'
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| This is the voice of the villagers
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| Not sitting back, scared to act, whispering, «Gee willikers»
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| Nah, this is an uprising, dudes are just rhyming
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| I’ve fantasized 'bout this when I was just Ryan
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| Come kick it with the aged-liquor sipper, slipper, rocker
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| Picked the pocket of a major label, knickerbocker
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| Sagging, keep my circle tighter than some leather pants
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| Whole state behind me like a weather man, damn
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| Gee willikers, fuck that shit
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| I bet he doesn’t know any black kids
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| I got 'em like, «Gee golly,» this kid’s a shit show
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| I knew I hated Spose from the get-go
|
| Gee willikers, I know I can’t lose
|
| Making rap songs that these strippers can’t dance to
|
| Gee golly, I’m the same old cat
|
| I, I, I, I keep it
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| I got 'em like, «Gee willikers,» I know I can’t lose
|
| Making rap songs that these strippers can’t dance to
|
| Gee golly, I’m the same old cat
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| I, I, I, I keep it bimpin' |