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
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