Funkoars - Hurro lyrics

[Intro - Sample] Let me say something about language. We're discussing s**uality, Not everyone is comfortable talking about s**. We'll use words you may not be accustomed to, But we do this to clarify, not to shock. We hope that our openness with permission given for you, We hope to help you to open the lines of s**ual communication, Between you and your partner. [Verse 1 - Sesta] Alright listen, you're better committed, the lyricism is insane, s** a dick vain like Venom leaving 'em in pain. Quit the laying, I been sayin' I'm feelin' like Rick James, These fingers itching to get at ya quick, face slap! You can't better the rapper that had a speech impediment, Now he's better then Mike Jackson with someone's son, Getting him drunk feeling him up feeling generous, givin' a f**. Yeah, I lost it, my rap here's still so-so. Posing in promo, photos f**in' h*mo's. Into chicks over dosing getting close 'n, Then I'm leaving 'em looser than pope's clothing. I poke her face with a poker face, On the first date talking about your supposed to wait. f** that, I'ma Funkoar, hopeless, waste of space, Toast to Ses the eight breakin' great. [Verse 2 - Hons] Now we a hard act to follow, Ask ya girl I got a hard co*k to swallow, While I swipe half ya bottle, and we back for round two, So let the speaker sound booth, Pollute everybody in the club that's around you. Me- Mr. E grade celebrity that's sick of dog c*nts posing as a pedigree. f** them I should open scars, Like the Funkoars loose at an open bar. And they only rap about tits and arse for sure, Cos if a 'Oar in your b**h then that b**h in awe. Yeah, so check it, this sh**s become too effortless, My rhyme books pages rival that of the New Testament. I been charmin' since Bush been after Bin Laden, Ghetto pimpin' in the club with rip garments. And she still cop the stage dick, And s** sells that's the reason 'Oars always cop an A-list. [Verse 3 - Mr Trials] Ay, well let me set it straight, then come 'n twist up the weather vein, 24 of the 5th 83 set a date, Mr. T's name deep in the streets, Beef with me is like a three week lease on your teeth. In a few years trust me, nothing has changed, Besides the fact b**hes never use my government name. Its Dan Lankin, God damn f** I'm handsome. If the hat leak seed then the skeeze hand standin', Women want a piece of the beast, Rappers want a piece of the beats, And f*ggots want peace in the streets. 'Til the cops kick the door, Funkoars, Pockets sworn raise hell like Robert Fawn with un-borns. A good man is hard to find, Says who? Take another look at Sesta, sh**, and there's two. How dare you compare you to F-U-N-K oars, Southboard the sound board.