| Hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, yo
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| I’m getting real tired of childish ass niggas
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| Judging a book by its cover
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| Think a pretty motherfucker like me
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| Won’t get foulmouthed and grimy on a nigga
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| You know what I mean, yo?
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| I’m willing and able, to start spilling a fable
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| But first quench my thirst to keep my syllables stable
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| I spent the rent on drinking and now they killing my cable
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| In love with lady liq', still I’m unfaithful
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| At times I need a face full of breasts
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| At times I make hateful threats and practice distasteful sex
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| But my thirst for spitting rhymes is two times
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| My unquenchable thirst for snatching a purse that isn’t mine
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| My first bitin' line of coke
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| Was the dope I spit in this rhyme I wrote
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| And quoted in my liner notes
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| My warped mind will find a joke in eulogies
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| And though hell hurts, I’m so well versed in tomfoolery
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| That I have to practice it, the backwards activist
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| Who manages to hold one of the highest batting averages
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| We’ll run up in your studio with scattered savages
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| Trample your sampler, and leave your DAT in bandages
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| (Eminem: I used to be a loud mouth, remember me)
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| Til I fouled out and graduated to a human outhouse
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| Ejected from the rap game for cursing the crowd out
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| Foul-mouthed and I (I used to be a loudmouth)
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| My ex-chick called me sexist when I called her a bitch
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| I was drunk though, excuse me if I faltered a bit
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| Your punk flow wouldn’t get you through one show
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| Cause what you reap I’ll un-sow
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| Launching beer bottles from the front row
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| A mad vandal, pillaging cribs with panhandles
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| I’ll burn your offices and have your promo ads canceled
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| Push back your release date
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| Beating street teams in each state
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| For their free tapes, and escape with a clean slate
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| I’m Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Suspicion
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| Obnoxious devil throwing peace signs
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| When I’m guilty like Richard M. Nixon
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| A sickness affliction, vicious condition
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| That causes me to cook in the bathroom and shit in the kitchen
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| I fit the description of sick, twisted and strange
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| A kid that’s deranged, lobotomized and missing a brain
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| Sodomized with a liquor bottle and few cool brews
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| A silly cuckoo with a few screws loose
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| I practice peer pressure and promote unsafe sex
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| On my tour of beer lectures, with one day left
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| I’m one stray head who corrupts the youth, fuck the truth
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| I plug drugs as a substitute
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| I’m a teacher in your district, leading you to mischief
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| Feeding you logistics that’s featured on my diskettes
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| I need to be enlisted in clinics, for exhibiting sickness
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| And eating cats til their clitoris twitches
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| Bleeding raps and living in stitches and wounds
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| The deepest that I get is when my dick’s in the womb
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| I put my fist to buffoons, and on the rare occasion
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| When I’m drunk and dazed, I put my lips to balloons
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| Spaced out like I live on the moon, with Andy Kaufman
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| Do me and Latka sip vodka? |
| The answer’s often
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| And I’m not just standing sportsman, I hunt emcees
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| I’m unfriendly, spitting til my tongue’s empty
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| Now you listen to me, mister
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| God dit not put me on this earth to be awakened
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| To foul-mouthed suggestions from a foul-mouthed
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| Hooligan like of you |