MC Chris - DQ Blizzard lyrics
[MC Chris - DQ Blizzard lyrics]
Your rapper - he's whack dude
Does he even try? Can he do what mine do?
Think you should say buh-bye
Get up on the mic like a five on a fifty
Quickly avoid the hickeys of
The bucktoothed bitties
Fake Timberlake just to be by Britney
Smoke that pipe with Whitney
Shoot that blow with Iggy
LIB, NYC and all places in between
You could call me a mint
Cause I make the green i make the scene
I make believe that you all was naked
So I wouldn't have to fake it
Just copy and paste it
Like Adobe Photoshop, Red Foreman in Robocop
I get up on the mic and
You know I won't fucking stop
It's like the props of Carrot Top
Or yellow stains in my socks
You acting like you hip? You're
All hepped up on hops
So, just do the body rock
Cause the beat just be so bumpin'
Let's get our groove on before
Our carriage is a pumpkin
Before they outlaw fuckin'
Not bad for a drunken munchkin
My name is MC Chris welcome
To my lyric luncheon a word up
And you know, woah woah woah
Name's MC, my band's the Lee Majors
Put us on the bill, and, boy, you hit paydirt
When I'm on the mic, girlies wanna flizzirt
But I tell' em chill like a DQ Blizzard
Help me like a DQ Blizzard, D-DQ Blizzard
Half corn beef and cabbage, half Fred Savage
The better than average rapper with
The, "have to have it, " habit
Heir apparents on my carrot like
They was Jessica Rabbit
Like fake wood paneling on the
Side of station wagons
Fraggle Rock on the box
Fruit Loops on my chin
Wonderin' if I'm ever really gonna fit in
Or be a son of a bitch
With a gut and some tit's
Or a Roman Casanova with my dick in a clit
I'll be back in a bit
I gotta floss my johnson
Make that cream for the state Wisconsin
You say all of my shit is complete nonsense
Fuck my CD and the shitty ass contents
Bullshit, my shit's the bomb
Siamese twins want ménage à trois
Robot bitches want their backs massaged
They may not be real but them tit's is large
A word up and you know, woah woah woah
Your rapper - he's whack dude
Does he even try? Can he do what mine do?
Think you should say buh-bye
Does he even try? Can he do what mine do?
Think you should say buh-bye
Get up on the mic like a five on a fifty
Quickly avoid the hickeys of
The bucktoothed bitties
Fake Timberlake just to be by Britney
Smoke that pipe with Whitney
Shoot that blow with Iggy
LIB, NYC and all places in between
You could call me a mint
Cause I make the green i make the scene
I make believe that you all was naked
So I wouldn't have to fake it
Just copy and paste it
Like Adobe Photoshop, Red Foreman in Robocop
I get up on the mic and
You know I won't fucking stop
It's like the props of Carrot Top
Or yellow stains in my socks
You acting like you hip? You're
All hepped up on hops
So, just do the body rock
Cause the beat just be so bumpin'
Let's get our groove on before
Our carriage is a pumpkin
Before they outlaw fuckin'
Not bad for a drunken munchkin
My name is MC Chris welcome
To my lyric luncheon a word up
And you know, woah woah woah
Name's MC, my band's the Lee Majors
Put us on the bill, and, boy, you hit paydirt
When I'm on the mic, girlies wanna flizzirt
But I tell' em chill like a DQ Blizzard
Help me like a DQ Blizzard, D-DQ Blizzard
Half corn beef and cabbage, half Fred Savage
The better than average rapper with
The, "have to have it, " habit
Heir apparents on my carrot like
They was Jessica Rabbit
Like fake wood paneling on the
Side of station wagons
Fraggle Rock on the box
Fruit Loops on my chin
Wonderin' if I'm ever really gonna fit in
Or be a son of a bitch
With a gut and some tit's
Or a Roman Casanova with my dick in a clit
I'll be back in a bit
I gotta floss my johnson
Make that cream for the state Wisconsin
You say all of my shit is complete nonsense
Fuck my CD and the shitty ass contents
Bullshit, my shit's the bomb
Siamese twins want ménage à trois
Robot bitches want their backs massaged
They may not be real but them tit's is large
A word up and you know, woah woah woah
Your rapper - he's whack dude
Does he even try? Can he do what mine do?
Think you should say buh-bye