Lyric Blow Me
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
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
