Too up front, the wise guy at the back of the bus.
To Rose Parks, the last thing at this park was ur grill.
"Oh, shit! Forreal?" Time to touchdown ur late 80's fade.
When the bitch was minute made, these are April showers.
This the Earth's Beast, moreee powa in this only hour.
Now it's bloomin', the scope, you's assume, when bitches came in twos.
That's when the dyke is wet, the all in bet, this no Hollywood "set."
The Maker's Mark, n no Jim Bean, but we Jack ur Daniels, this the Dream Team.
And the cream the crop, when it was top down, and this Hell's Kitchen.
Now I got an itch, all while's you bluff, too tough, when you regret ur last nut.
So we King Tut, no heat, but it's butterfly, from head to toe, no 69, and now you kno thas no lie.