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 'cause I'm always sinnin'
You don't know me blow me ho you want to 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 through your town like mother fuckin Clint Eastwood
'cause 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 you 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
'cause 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 you 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 you M.C. Crusty
'cause to face me you 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
'cause 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 want to fuck and I'll pick her up at 10
Lyrics © Royalty Network Music Publishing Ltd.