Niggas’ rap albums sound like love letters,
Pen in my hand, like: damn, fam, I could do much better.
Tag Archives: humor
My style is strong like hard lumber;
Cute chicks get the dick,
Ugly bitches get the wrong number.
I never gave a rat’s ass or a flyin’ fuck…
Drivin’ drunk in a fire truck with the siren stuck,
Slammin’ the brakes, skiddin’ out cause the tires suck.
Went to pull you off my dick and got the pliers stuck.
You better run, cause I’m probably the only one
Crazy enough to shoot your ass with a knife and stab you with a gun.
Now Joe wanna be like Bob,
Bob got it goin’ on with no job.
And everything Rob got he got from Robin,
And everything she got, she got ho-hoppin’.
My girl Jilly wanna be like Jackie,
Fat rope chains and I think that’s wick-wacky.
Tom and Dick wanna be like Harry,
Little do they know he’s bitin’ on Barry…
Want to know my occupation, home location, and means of transportation?
The correct combination unlocked your placenta…
I got a cellular phone with a rubber antenna,
And a 3-story house, drive a 4-door Ac.
Favorite song of all time? Mobb Deep’s ‘Hit It From the Back’
I don’t know why y’all so highly regarded;
You rhyme like you’re borderline mildly retarded.
I hope you get a paper cut on your tongue
From a razor in a paper cup.
I hope every soda you drink’s already shaken up.
I hope your dreams dry like raisins in the baking sun.
I hope your titties’ all saggy in your early 20s.
I hope there’s always snow in your driveway.
I hope you never get off Fridays…
And you work at a Friday’s that’s always busy on Fridays.
I’m just a bastard with a bad habit,
Bad back, in a black Volkswagen Rabbit
…Shit, I gotta have it.
Black magic woman put a spell on me;
Fuck around and win a spelling bee.
I could walk under ladders, still win the lotto.
Ten minutes flat: built a boat in a bottle.
You see y’all got it all wrong like women in tuxedos,
And comin’ up shorter than five Danny DeVitos.
I’m on a cool ranch…get laid more than Fritos,
With five strippers, four wives and three amigos.
I go scuba divin’ in Bays at Montego,
I find gold links and snatch ‘em like I’m Deebo.
But I’m the light-skindeded version of Mandingo,
I’ve seen more Beatles and Jagged Edges than Ringo,
I used to run numbers in line they called me ‘Bingo.’
…That’s when you start to stare at who’s in the mirror,
And see yourself as a kid again, and you get embarrassed.
And I got nothin’ to do but make you look stupid as parents,
You fuckin’ do-gooders; too bad you couldn’t do good at marriage!
Classical slap-stick rappers need Chapstick.
My first name must be “He Ain’t Shit”
Cause every time I’m in a car
Bitches be like, “He ain’t shit!”
I’ll ignore you sellin crack, killin people, and keepin it real,
But disrespect me and my adopted fam and die young like veal.
Wrote this lyric from in the bed wit’ a chick
She had the tightest grip around the head of my…
…Bic. Now, can I get my pen back?
How you looking like beef jerky, beefing in every verse,
But never beefing in person? Randy Savage.
You wouldn’t snap a Slim Jim,
You wouldn’t rip a wrapping on Christmas in Santa’s attic
With the hands of Eddie Scissors…ain’t you average?
I got Soul Power, never took a cold shower,
Never had a girlfriend the color of cooking flour.
My mic is a Magnum.
See me and this chick, we go back like Cro-Magnon.
Man…we did it in the back of your Magnum;
I said, ‘Put them Lifestyles back, give me the Magnums.’
Thought kissin’ ass was in my blood type? Oh, negative.
Spottin’ fools frontin’ fly, girls act material.
…You live at home with your mom.
I had a church girl, quiet girl…one girl was rich.
The most memorable girl was a Gangsta Bitch.
We went out a lot, sometimes we dressed the same,
Lickin’ shots in the park and had pet names:
I called her ‘Dollars’ cause that’s what she liked to spend;
She called me ‘Diamond’ cause my dick was her best friend.
Now who done passed you a diaper and got you thinkin’ you the shit?
Girls, don’t run that shit that beauty’s only skin deep,
Cause I don’t want no girl with a Brillo face,
Or the type that’ll leave Jheri Curl juice on my pillow case.
I’m a cold winter morning, y’all Summer’s Eve.
Life is real, reality is not a dream.
Those who chose to sleep…I wake em up,
Cause you’re sleepin with your mouth open hummin deez nuts.
This is for my bitches in the shelters that don’t need shelter, you just doin’ that shit for a crib.
And all my bad little bitches, when your baby father hits you, stick a ice cold knife in his ribs.
And all my bitches pimp the system, get your WIC, tell your workers, “Fuck that,” you gon’ have more kids.
And you ain’t have ‘em cause you need ’em, but now you gotta feed em, so you figure that your ass gon’ strip.
When I hit the bong
I’m Godzilla takin’ over Hong Kong
Eatin’ wonton with a shotgun in long johns.
Save your wack rhymes, hold your female.
Pass the Old Gold, trash the ale.
Cash your food stamps, get the WIC out the mail.
Love to eat shrimps, but I never eat snail,
Eat a whole fish except for the tail.
Keep food in the fridge so it don’t get stale,
And when there’s nothing to eat…I bite my nails.
Haters wanna ball, let me tighten up my draw string.
Wrong sport, boy, you know you’re as soft as a lacrosse team.
Once I slapped a rapper with mace,
Then I spit acid in his face, after he rinsed his eyes, no wait…
I actually grew five times my size, grabbed Ma$e by the thigh and slapped a rapper with him.
The IRS’ll never sweat me or even put up a fight…
Cause I’m sure I’ve paid more in taxes than you’ve made in yo’ life!
Whatcha gonna do to this?
You may be older than me, but you’re new to this.
Cause I been out there, queen of MC’s,
When your man was walkin’ round in mocknecks and Lee’s.
While you were over here perpetratin’ a fraud,
I was overseas on the charts with Boy George.
You’re the beginner, Shante’s the winner,
Havin’ other competition for dinner.
Sit you on the table with a plate and cup,
Say grace…and then eat your ass up.
Sorry, Mrs. Drizzy, for so much art talk;
Silly me rappin’ ‘bout shit that I really bought.
While these rappers rap about guns they ain’t shot,
And a bunch of other silly shit that they ain’t got.
I never boned a honey that I didn’t like,
I never saw a mile that I couldn’t hike.
I never had a spliff to make me choke,
I never had a pocket that was broke.
Unpredictable, liable to flip my lid…
My moms dropped me on my head when I was a kid.
Back then I lost all my marbles, today I lost my job,
So in essence, it’s Armageddon, somebody’s bound to get robbed!
I be tossin’, enforcin’, my style is awesome.
I’m causin’ more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson.
And the survey said: “You’re dead.”
Fatal Flying Guillotine chops off your fuckin’ head!
If I don’t got two balls and a middle finger to throw up,
I’m takin off both shoes and stickin each middle toe up.
My mind’s my 9, my pen’s my Mac-10.
My target? All you wack niggaz who started rappin’.
Of course I’m funky like fat people having intercourse.
Basically, the funk is stuck in your teeth…so get the dental floss.
Got more milky syllables than alphabet cereals.
You better recognize, adjust your bifocals;
Your style is local…I sit on the beach in Acapulco.
I put words together like Peter Jennings,
And skate on motherfuckers like Peggy Fleming.
I write raps, and when niggas bite, I clap.
Cause their shit sounds better now.
You’re living up in Heaven, but I know you’re mad as Hell.
Alright I might…
Have had a little glare when I stared at ya ho.
But I didn’t know she was like that,
She stared right back!
Complainin’ to my lawyer how this rookie tried to frisk me…
Jealous of my jeep, I gave his badge to the chief,
And got his ass directin’ traffic in the heat for a week.
I’m real good at troubleshooting;
When there’s trouble…I start shooting.
I’m hooked on gin and tonics like your mama’s Hooked on Phonics.
I got the gangsta in me, plus I’m not friendly
To a bitch-ass whose mouth runs more laps than the Indy.
Cats be talkin’, “Bobby I ain’t feelin’ ya.”
But I bet if I was peelin’ your cap back with a two-shot Dillinger
Hot lead released from my cylinder,
You’d be talkin’ ‘bout, “Bobby I’m feelin’ ya!”
I hate The Police so much I’d probably assassinate Sting,
My System of a Down Rages Against the Machine.
Tie you up in a Slipknot and hold Alice In Chains inside her dreams.
I’d count my blessings, but I suck at math.
Dutch in my ear, Olde E in my palm,
I Freddy Krueger your face, Michael Myers your moms.
You botherin mine? That’s when I’m sparkin the nine.
If we gotta dumb down our style and ABC it, then so be it,
Cause nowadays these kids just don’t give a shit ‘bout lyrics.
All they wanna hear is a beat and that’s it,
Long as they can go to the club and get blitzed,
Pick up some chicks and get some digits.
And the DJs playing them hits, “Oh, this my jam, this my shit!”
We don’t know a word to a verse, all we know is the chorus,
Cause the chorus repeats the same four words for us.
It’s all love, but love’s got a thin line
And Pun’s got a big nine,
Respect crime…but not when it reflect mine.
I make niggas eat dirt and fart dust,
Then give you a $80 gift certificate to Pussies “Я” Us.
A letter to you suckers,
Each and every one of you duck muthafuckas…
Your girl puckers her lips, so I stuck her.
Make a radio hit: heads criticize it.
Underground classic? Nobody buys it.
So, rap is fucked…
And everything blowing up sounds redundant,
But money talks and bullshit does 9 flat in the 100.
Nothing’s been the same since they dropped ‘Control’
And tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes.
Ha-ha! Joke’s on you, high-five, I’m bulletproof,
Your shit’ll never penetrate.
Pin the tail on the donkey, boy you been a fake.
Why do I need ID to get ID?
If I had ID, I wouldn’t need ID.
Rhymes so def, rhymes rhymes galore,
Rhymes that you’ve never even heard before.
Now if you say you heard my rhyme, we gonna have to fight,
‘Cause I just made the muthafuckas up last night!
If you go platinum, it’s got nothing to do with luck,
It just means that a million people are stupid as fuck.
I’m a street genius with a unique penis,
Got fly chicks on my dick that don’t even speak English.
All I see is sissies in magazines smiling…
Whatever happened to wildin’ out and being violent?
Whatever happened to catching a good, old-fashioned, passionate ass whoopin’?
And getting your shoes, coat and your hat tooken?
My new shorty got a gymnastic back,
‘87 emerald green on a classic Jag.
She had the cleft palate, I ordered chef’s salad;
She had the club foot, with that little arm,
I couldn’t help but laugh…she ordered Chicken Parm.
They say that love is powerful as cough syrup and Styrofoam.
All I know is I fell asleep and woke up in that Monte Carlo
With the ugly Kardashian…
Lamar, oh, sorry. Yo, we done both set the bar low.
What is competition? I’m tryna raise the bar high,
Who tryna jump and get it? You better off tryna skydive
Out the exit window of 5 G5’s with 5 grand
With your granddad as the pilot he drunk as fuck tryna land
With the hand full of arthritis and popping prosthetic leg
Bumpin Pac in the cockpit so the shit that pops in his head
Is an option of violence, someone heard the stewardess said
That your parachute is a latex condom hooked to a thread.
I’ve seen niggas transform like villain Decepticons,
Mollies’ll prolly turn these niggas to fuckin’ Lindsay Lohan.
A bunch of rich ass white girls lookin’ for parties,
Playin with Barbies, wreck the Porsche before you give ‘em the car key.
It seem like everybody dress tight now,
And I just want my credit.
You can’t take the heat, get ya ass out the kitchen
Matter fact, take ya ass back in there and wash the dishes.
I don’t mind you talkin shit, just keep it in the first person.
Nowadays, the game is all bugged out,
Phony, like back when Hammer tried to come thugged out.
Her dreams hold Versace,
She fall for Armani…
Only deal with rich niggas,
Fuck you and Mitt Romney.
Lyrically, I’m supposed to represent;
I’m not only the client, I’m the player president.
Feds still lurking,
They see I’m still putting work in.
Cause somewhere in America…
Miley Cyrus is still twerkin’.
I drop styles on ears…the public bite ‘em.
Not many went to school, so the dummies wouldn’t write ’em.
They say, “Yo Keith! You’re Kool, you usin’ big words!”
I went to college, I’m even more stupid, herb.
Ooh! Jesus Christ had dreads, so shake ‘em.
I ain’t got none, but I’m planning on growing some.
Imagine all the Hebrews going dumb…
Dancing on top of chariots and turning tight ones.
They claim we’re products from the bottom of Hell,
But the black is back, and it’s bound to sell.
Picture us coolin’ out on the Fourth of July…
And if you heard we were celebratin’, that’s a worldwide lie.
My heart is ‘We Are the World,’ my penis is P.E.
But my balls are Avatar, you could see ’em in 3D.
I drink twenty forties, smoke forty blunts,
Say a hundred rhymes, and not sound like you once.
‘What you doing in the club on a Thursday?’
She say she only here for her girl birthday…
They ordered champagne but still look thirsty,
Rock Forever 21 but just turned 30.
All right, stop whatcha doin, cause I’m about to ruin
The image and the style that you’re used to.
Might go fuck a rapper’s life up like Mo’nique did to Precious.
I’m stuck in a time capsule when rappers’ actually factual;
Meaning: shit you spit might cause killers to come and clap at you.
Food for thought, eat my words with your mind:
Emcees are grapes, and grapes are crushed to wine.
I can drink a whole Hennessy fifth.
Some call that a problem, but I call it a gift.
I chop ‘em into salad and my name ain’t Caesar.
Step to this and get shanked up,
I knocked out so many teeth, the tooth fairy went bankrupt.
‘You claim to be the man, you want me for a lover,
So you can do my girlfriends and my sister and my mother?’I said, ‘You’re very blunt,’ with quickness to the cue,
‘So whassup with your mother, does she look as good as you?’
My mama didn’t see it comin, my daddy was there.
What’s my excuse? Cartoons were the root.
Started with Yosemite Sam
With the gun in the palm of the hand,
What couldn’t I demand?
I don’t know what’s better: getting laid or getting paid.
I just know when I’m getting one, the other’s getting away.
You stackin cheddar cause you working at the burger place.
You can tell by the rhyme it’s my time to shine;
Let’s eat, motherfucker, I don’t dine on swine.
I don’t beef with turkeys, I told you the God’ll fold you,
Hard to digest: I suggest that you take tofu.
Couldn’t you see me and you stretched out in a bikini on the beach in Tahiti?
See, me, I’m very selective even though I could be greedy;
My main objective is to write our names together in graffiti.
I’m givin’ more flat lines to niggas than loose-leaf.
I don’t get pat down, you know what’s on the waist,
I don’t mean Jazz when I say I “count base.”
Fly Louis sneakers, Purple Tape coming out the speakers,
Bumped into my high school teachers,
They said I wouldn’t be nothing, sitting on the bleachers.
Now I’m sitting in the Phantom, trynna figure out the features.
I’m a big fish now, I watch for the leeches.
You got game like me? I doubt it.
They say pimping ain’t easy…what’s so hard about it?
Even when I say nothing, it’s a beautiful use of negative space.
My limo driver’s white, my attorney black…
‘Show me some love’ like I’m Bernie Mac.
Picture yourself crushin’ Xzibit with your tough talk?
That’s like Christopher Reeve doing the crip walk.
Wake up: all of that ‘crack in the street’ talk?
It’s made up, like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
Put your hands where I can see ‘em, so they look like 12 PM
On the dot, see this Glock? Don’t make me give these shells freedom.