New word, onomatopoeia.

Boom, don’t act like you don’t wanna be ‘us.

I rhyme to get jumped like leaves ya’.

Blocked that club like we really wanna leave me. Do ya?

No. Keeps us so gone, you’re gone.

Okay, okay, okay. Back to the happy song.

Rap ain’t nothing but an auto-talking bitch.

My girl look pretty, up there, right here.

My plaid pants, my solid future.

That’s my ass, and a gorgeous coocha.

I’m an out’kast’ but you’re into me.

Summer got mad, because winter blew me.

That juicy flute.

That splooshy sploosh.

Generation X on bloop de bloop.

Get dooped. Gotta get doop de doop.

Everybody hit the floor, we through the roof.

HA.

Like a chimney, hocking in me.

How come it be- so lame, man?

And they all talk about “Awh, he don’t rap enough”.

Well ya’ll rap a lot, and i’m like “Wrap it up”. Ho

Like Scarface, he will really be, he bush rape.

He ain’t killing me.

Better play with more bush, like your momma.

Bitch best keep your bush, just like your momma.

Keep sleeping while I rot my pajamas.

In the day time, I swear, I promise-

Dance like a face-off.

I’ll tear, get my face off.

How can black stone base-ball?

Ya’ll alright, ya’ll know you can taste all this.

Like shots all, ya’ll stay for the take off.

Do ya dang thing.

Do ya thing, ya thing.