[Instrumental]
[Lotto]
I'll spit a racial slur, honky, sue me. The sh** is a horror flick, but the black guy doesn't die in this movie
You messin' with Lotto, dawg, you gotta be kiddin'
That makes me believe you really don't have a interest in livin'
You think these n***as gon' feel the sh** you say?
I got a better chance joinin' the KKK
On some real sh** though, I like you. That's why I didn't wanna have to be the one you commit suicide to
f** "Lotto", call me your leader. I feel bad that I gotta murder that dude from Leave It To Beaver
I used to like that show, now, you got me in fight back mode
But, oh well, if you gotta go, then you gotta go
I hate to do this, I would love for this sh** to last
So I'll take pictures of my rear end so you won't forget my a**
And all's well, that ends OK
So I'll end this sh** with a f** you and have a nice day
[B-Rabbit]
Ward, I think you were a little hard on the beaver
So was Eddie Haskell, Wally, and Ms. Cleaver
This guy keeps screamin', he's paranoid
Quick! Someone get his a** another steroid!
Blah Badi Boo Blah Bah Badi Blo Blah
I ain't hear a word you said: hipidi hoo blah!
Is that a tank top or a new bra?
Look! Snoop Dogg just got a f**in' b**b job
Didn't you listen to the last round, meathead?
Pay attention! You're sayin' the same sh** that he said
Matter of fact, dawg, here's a pencil
Go home, write some sh**, make it suspenseful
And don't come back until somethin' dope hits you
f** it, you can take the mic home with you
Lookin' like a cyclone hit you
Tank top screaming, "Lotto, I don't fit you!"
You see how far the white jokes get you
Boys like, "How Vanilla Ice gon' diss you?"
My motto: f** Lotto
I'll get the seven digits from your mother for a dollar tomorrow