The Refrain

'1' It'll blow your mind, the style I'm reppin'.
'2' These fly feet in the shoes I am steppin'.
'3' I'm hot vapor, all y'all are tepid.
'4' And like a mad primate, this shit is my weapon.
'5' Notice the depth of the eloquent lyrics,
'6' Like a fire alarm, in your best interest to hear it.
'7' And as the USDA would say, this is prime grade.
'8' And I don't give a fuck how you want it to be made.
'9' I'll serve it pink in the middle cause I'm quite rare.
'10' Shave a quarter off the top, that is my share.

A safe distance from this heat you should maintain.
Count to ten, it's all I need for the refrain.

Black Chevrolet

Drivin' through town, sittin' in my bucket seat
Press that AC, the way I'm turnin' up the heat
And I'm quite glad that I have power steering
I'll reduce my speed for the curves that I am nearing.
Please hold the clutch, lest we be stallin'
Your tires riding low from the cargo you are haulin'.
Odometer off the charts like the target when I'm shootin' skeet.
Thrustin' pedal to metal, so much fuel we will replete.
Cleanin' your car, detailing that black Chevrolet,
I'm about to wax on you, shine that body if I may.

Cold as Balls

This one's a bit more inappropriate... enjoy:

Its cold! Jack frost is nippin' at your nose,
When I whip it out, I'll bring your knickers to your toes.
You got frost nip seein' my dick because that shit is so cool,
That snow is chalk on my stick like a game of pool.
When I come outside, I'm seein snow and icicles,
When i cum in you, your skin will feel a slight prickle.
Shit! That's a sign of hypothermia,
You won't die, soon the friction will be warmin' ya.
"Is it okay that my lips are blue?"
Better lips than balls,
I'm thrustin' hips hearin' calls.
So when I'm fucking you, remember deck the halls,
It's Christmas time, and it's cold as balls!

Happy Birthday!

You can't have your cake and eat it too,
But you can snap your fingers till this song is through.
So blow out the candles and make a wish,
Consistent with the lines that I'll proceed to dish.
It's your birthday, now a year's passed,
Take out the black book and count all the ass.
Though your trim per year's not statistically significant,
As a gift to you, I bet these bitches will be hittin' it.
Happy Birthday to you, we all pitched in for one thing:
She's waiting outside, aptly wrapped in a g-string!

The theme song

This is bar one, I'm bar none, the best.
All of my niggers can attest
That's end rhyme, my punches are said to end life
I Dole out pain like stanzas, not bananas
I dabble in the arts like a dollop of daisy,
Fuck yeah man that sour cream alliteration is crazy,
My bitch be like Edgar Allen the way she
Back that assonance up.
And if you don't believe me, I'll 575 hike you
Into the air, motherfucker, I swear.
My wit be like Walt...man
To the lyrics and the flow, I am a sultan.
And it is your brain I'll be assaultin'.
I'm speaking metaphorically, not using like or as,
Cause I don't like yo' ass.
So step the fuck off son, this is poetry rap!