Tater Chips - Sissy Walk lyrics

[MC Half Mast] I'm rappin, I'm rappin', someone please hand me a napkin I like to wipe my fingers after every time I'm snackin' s**a Slim back on the mic so let us get a crackin' A crackin on some Kraken, the Cruzan or even Captain Working on this case like my name was Bert Macklin. So now let me see who the culprit could be Pound a few drinks, and now I gotta pee Could someone clarify “What the heck was in that whiskey” Dr. Brule, Dr. Brule diagnose my flow Is it ill, in need of pills, will it stop the show? I don't really care cause I'm a doctor too Just sawr a dang stranger and that stranger was you! Haven't been to Dave & Busters, cool your thrusters If you ask, then Haph Mast will smack all you Mother f**ers Swimming in the gla** lined tanks of old Latrobe Get out, dry off, throw on my robe It's when I take it off b**hes flock me in droves They love my verse cause I don't care for prose With my man Tater Chips, his salty smells hit my nose He's locking up the track in case you didn't know Back from the dead 2k10 has arose Or it seems as he gleams from his head to his toes Laying down this track for the mutha lovin' bros All the lumber was bought from a place called Lowe's We got a chorus on this one, and here's how it goes [Hook] Illness in our spit - We got a sick flow Just like a bakery - We make a lotta dough Our beds are ten feet high - We never lie low You keep on coming back- So here's a little mo' [Lil 2k10] Word on the street is people got to know Why I go by 2k10 YO that was three years ago, bro Long story but if you're gonna b**h like krang I can rang the dang thang for the gang if you hang, mang This tale I will tell in a free flow niche To which I got to switch when I get that itch, b**h Rolling - twelve patrolling - 4 broz BLAOW 'OH sh*t' and then I glocked a way out - that's why they call me 2k10 So if you want to roll with me I only got one rule Got to roll with all the broz and pay for the fuel, fool You got to get us pabst and you got to pay the bill And buy all the meat I'll throw it on the grill If the pigs come down on us you'll be taking the heat You're a lucky ba*tard, this deal can't be beat But if you give us sh** our good will goes down the drain End up in Rage-a's backyard six feet under next to Wayne [Tater Chips] It's the snack food Jesus coming down from the sky Elected President of Hip-Hop High Two f**ing times and I'm drinking wine Hand me the mic, it's my time to shine I cast a lyrical spell on your Supreme Clientele Like American Idol, I'm hung quite well So let's go Pop Pop, and I won't stop stop If you dip into my wallet, you're gonna get shot I don't like Kid Rock or the Boston Red Sox Let me lift up my fingers and leave you in shock As I rock every block from Belize to Bombay Putting cream in your grits - Parlez-vous français? Don't f**ing play or you'll wind up dead "Uhh, Jimmy can't go to school, there's a hole in his head" Force fed the best rap group of all time They use my rhymes as proof of intelligent design Let me redefine your definition of truth: I saw Sasquatch, I don't need any proof Me and Sas smoking gra** up in Arkansas With the Yeti Girls - yes, it was a blast s**a Slim, 2k10 - tight like Frog and Toad My words flow, so start stopping your boots Tater Chips coming home with all your looooooot!