Blow Me

(albüm: The Polyfuze Method - 1993)

A bottle of Jack's got my manager grinning
Yeah that's me that keeps the turntables spinning
I'm counting cards and I keep on winning
I know God hates me because I'm always sinning

You don't know me blow me ho you wanna get hot
You'll get your ass blown out fucking with the Kid Rock
Eating up you suckers just the same way a beast could
Tearing through your town like mother fucking Clint Eastwood
Because I be faking the rhymes that keep you shaking
Making a lot of money but don't let me be mistaken
I never thought about climbing 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 sounding like an ass wipe
Or sitting in an alley smoking 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 trying to get paid

Now check the rhyme as I climb and I co get rude
And send ya running playing pussy like Shaggy and Scoob
Because 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 selling that ass
And your styles in the past it's old and dusty
So from now on I'm calling you M.C. Crusty
Because to face me you must be blitzed or blasted
So now I'm going to drop you like a hit of acid
And when I rip you people they might stare
Because I got more rhymes than Donahue's got white hair
And yo buck won't you please be a friend
And tell your mom I wanna fuck and I'll pick her up at 10