Free download
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #10,018
Peak in subgenre #5,635
Author
Branco
Uploaded
April 24, 2003
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.1 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
driving around town dirty sanchez and me
looking for a hunny cuz im fucking horny
its bang bus with Ug.s at the wheel
he sees a bitch, we stops with a squeal
this woman was fishy, adam's apple in sight
started to get bitchy but she didnt put up a fight.
in the van smelling like cucumber melon
it was B M C dressed like a woman.
instead of kickin him out
we knew what this was about
BITCH GIMME THAT clothes out the window
B M C was an undercover freak ho, incognito
wearing a thong… floss in his crack
wearing lipstick, and using tampax
you should have shaved, that 5 o'clock shadow
butt fuck it…
its time to fucking battle
got the mic in my hand but can i make you understand
that im crushing B M C like a recyclable can.
If your going to recycle man, you better have a plan.
So take my example, my number one fan.
I’m Clint Eastwood, riding on my saddle.
Equip with chains-whips, and a ping pong paddle.
I told you high noon, your were yellower than poon.
So tune in to hear, the queers next come back.
I can take the pressure. Sir we’re under attack.
I increase the level of deceased, fattening the belly of the beast.
When I spit shit, off my chest, leaves weak MCs, wacked at the knee
Beging for their life, bIIiitch please. If you cant handle these.
Step on back and don’t front, smoking you like a blunt.
Or rubbers in your moms cunt, pussy, box, lick, clit.
Saying I don’t feel your shit,
then you get bit, what you done droped
So don’t cop. What You cant stop, like a pebble or a rock, BMC stands for Big Mushy Cock.
A doodle do. And fuck a poodle too.
hit you with my verbs, in form of rhyming words.
I’ll leaving you beaten, like Rodney King’s chauffeur.
You’re trying to run faster than a liquefied tird.
But you cant fuck with me, that would be absurd.
Pest and me, you know how we do.
BMC couldn’t step to this, with a bit diss, and a pair of nikes shoes.
Im personified by the word dope
your making up cheap lines, like a Kelo’s horoscope.
So sit down son, I aint about battling,
its about having fun. Never crying or tattling.
When I was finished I grabed him by the hair
Kicked him out the van, in the middle of nowhere.
Now you know I am a lyrical thrill-ya, kill-ya, skillionaire.
Comments
The artist currently doesn't allow comments.
