A bottle of jack's got my manager grinnin'

yeah that's me that keeps the turntables spinniN'

I'm countin cards and I keep on winnin'

I know God hates me cuz I'm always sinnin'

U don't know me blow me ho you wanna get hot

you'll get your ass blown out fuckin with the Kid Rock

Eatin up ya suckers just the same way a beast could

tearin thru your town like muther fuckin Clint Eastwood

Cuz I be fakin the rhymes that keep ya shakin'

makin a lotta money but don't let me be mistaken

I never thought about climbin up the pop chart

and I don't give a fuck u can't buy my tape in K-Mart

Give me a choice between soundin like an ass wipe

or sittin in an alley smokin crack from a glass pipe

I'd be as skinny as a junkie with the AIDS plague

but still I'd look better than a puppet tryin to get paid

Now check the rhyme as i climb and I co get rude

and send ya runnin' playin' pussy like Shaggy and Scoob

Cuz I'm the wrong dude to fuck with my mouth is mental

and I'm a tear shit up like they did in South Central

Son of a bitch I'm the son of a bitch

nobody ever loved u so you're the son of a dick

I'm a product of a young girl top in her class

you're a product of a hooker who was sellin that ass

And your styles in the past it's old and dusty

so from now on I'm callin u M.C. Crusty

Cuz to face me u must be blitzed or blasted

so now I'm gonna drop ya like a hit of acid

And when I rip ya people they might stare

cuz I got more rhymes than Donahue's got white hair

An yo buck won't you please be a friend

And tell your mom I wanna fuck and I'll pick her up at 10