A bottle of jack's got my manager grinnin'
yeah that's me that keeps the turntables spinnin'
i'm countin cards and i keep on winnin'
i know god hates me cuz i'm always sinnin'
u don't know me blow me ho you wanna get hot
you'll get your ass blown out fuckin with the kid rock
eatin up ya suckers just the same way a beast could
tearin thru your town like muther fuckin clint eastwood
cuz i be fakin the rhymes that keep ya shakin'
makin a lotta money but don't let me be mistaken
i never thought about climbin up the pop chart
and i don't give a fuck u can't buy my tape in k-mart
give me a choice between soundin like an ass wipe
or sittin in an alley smokin crack from a glass pipe
i'd be as skinny as a junkie with the aids plague
but still i'd look better than a puppet tryin to get paid
now check the rhyme as i climb and i co get rude
and send ya runnin' playin' pussy like shaggy and scoob
cuz i'm the wrong dude to fuck with my mouth is mental
and i'm a tear shit up like they did in south central
son of a bitch i'm the son of a bitch
nobody ever loved u so you're the son of a dick
i'm a product of a young girl top in her class
you're a product of a hooker who was sellin that ass
and your styles in the past it's old and dusty
so from now on i'm callin u m.c. crusty
cuz to face me u must be blitzed or blasted
so now i'm gonna drop ya like a hit of acid
and when i rip ya people they might stare
cuz i got more rhymes than donahue's got white hair
an yo buck won't you please be a friend
and tell your mom i wanna fuck and i'll pick her up at 10