Kid Rock - Blow Me lyrics
[Kid Rock - Blow Me lyrics]
A bottle of jack's got my manager grinning
Yeah that's me that keeps
The turntables spinning
I'm counting cards and I keep on winning
I know God hates me
Because I'm always sinning
U don't know me blow me ho you wanna get hot
You'll get your ass blown out
Fucking with the Kid Rock
Eating up you suckers just the
Same way a beast could
Tearing through your town like
Mother fucking Clint Eastwood
Because I be faking the rhymes
That keep you shaking
Making a lot of money but
Don't let me be mistaken
I never thought about climbing
Up the pop chart and I don't give a fuck you
Can't buy my tape in K-Mart
Give me a choice between sounding
Like an ass wipe
Or sitting in an alley smoking
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 trying to get paid
Now check the rhyme as I climb
And I co get rude
And send ya running playing pussy
Like Shaggy and Scoob
Because 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 you 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 selling that ass
And your styles in the past
It's old and dusty
So from now on I'm calling u MC crusty
Because to face me you must
Be blitzed or blasted
So now I'm going to drop you
Like a hit of acid
And when I rip you people they might stare
Because I got more rhymes than
Donahue's got white hair
And yo buck won't you please be a friend
And tell your mom I want to fuck
And I'll pick her up at 10
Yeah that's me that keeps
The turntables spinning
I'm counting cards and I keep on winning
I know God hates me
Because I'm always sinning
U don't know me blow me ho you wanna get hot
You'll get your ass blown out
Fucking with the Kid Rock
Eating up you suckers just the
Same way a beast could
Tearing through your town like
Mother fucking Clint Eastwood
Because I be faking the rhymes
That keep you shaking
Making a lot of money but
Don't let me be mistaken
I never thought about climbing
Up the pop chart and I don't give a fuck you
Can't buy my tape in K-Mart
Give me a choice between sounding
Like an ass wipe
Or sitting in an alley smoking
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 trying to get paid
Now check the rhyme as I climb
And I co get rude
And send ya running playing pussy
Like Shaggy and Scoob
Because 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 you 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 selling that ass
And your styles in the past
It's old and dusty
So from now on I'm calling u MC crusty
Because to face me you must
Be blitzed or blasted
So now I'm going to drop you
Like a hit of acid
And when I rip you people they might stare
Because I got more rhymes than
Donahue's got white hair
And yo buck won't you please be a friend
And tell your mom I want to fuck
And I'll pick her up at 10