[LOTTO, spoken]
Fuck this coward, dawg
Free World in the motherfuckin' house, what's goin' on, baby?
Yo, it's time to get rid of this coward right here once and for all
I'm sick of this motherfucker
Check this shit out
[PAPA DOC, spoken]
Rip him, Lotto, rip him, baby
Rip him, yeah
[LOTTO, spoken]
Huh
Huh, yo
[LOTTO]
I'll spit a racial slur, honky, sue me
The shit is a horror flick, but the black guy doesn't die in this movie
Fuckin' with Lotto? Dawg, you gotta be kiddin'
That makes me believe you really don't have an interest in livin'
You think these niggas gon' feel the shit you say?
I got a better chance joinin' the KKK
On some real shit, though? I like you
That's why I didn't wanna have to be the one you commit suicide to
Fuck "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 shit to last
So I'll take pictures of my rear end so you won't forget my ass
And all's well that ends okay
So I'll end this shit with a "Fuck you", but have a nice day
[FUTURE, spoken]
Woah, woah, okay, okay
Can't be mad, can't be mad
A'ight
[PAPA DOC, spoken]
You killed that fucked up white boy, fuck!
[FUTURE, spoken]
Okay, settle down, settle down
Give the man a chance
A'ight, Bunny Rabbit's up next
A'ight, B-Rabbit, you got the mic
It's on you, you know what to do
DJ, spin that shit
[LOTTO, spoken]
What up, you got something?
Lemme hear something
[PAPA DOC, spoken]
You can't fuck with us, yeah
[LOTTO, spoken]
Let's see what you got
[CHEDDAR BOB, spoken]
Come on Rabbit!
Get him!
[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 ass another steroid!
"Blah-biddy, bloo-blah, blah-blah-biddy, bloo-blah!"
I ain't hear a word you said: "Hippety hoopla!"
Is that a tank top or a new bra?
Look! Snoop Dogg just got a fuckin' boobjob
Didn't you listen to the last round, meathead?
Pay attention, you're sayin' the same shit that he said
Matter fact, dawg, here's a pencil
Go home, write some shit, make it suspenseful
And don't come back until somethin' dope hits you
Fuck it, you can take the mic home witchu
Lookin' like a cyclone hit you
Tank top screamin', "Lotto, I don't fit you!"
You see how far them white jokes get you
Boys like, "How Vanilla Ice gon' diss you?"
My motto: "Fuck Lotto!"
I'll get the seven digits from your mother for a dollar tomorrow
