I feel a rap coming on, a wrap coming out, a meme of a theme of a new theme

A shoeshine day-dream, a shush me hush you L’il Burners doncha cry

The touchdown brings me round again to see how the time flies

And the old ways dies through touch-ups and dribble drabs

You don’t gotta explain it

ORG Can’t Contain It

Dirth’s real or feigned it

Bitches gotta complain a bit

I use my own wit

From where I sit

That’s all, it’s bout a Baller who got’s to holler

When the B-Man’s brothers’ got him by the Collar

Can you spare four-hundred dollar?

To make him taller?

We all got writ

Like Habeas Corpus

Produce the bodies

Or we’ll take this shit to some other fuckin Wadi

A dried-up lake bed?

You sippin’ Cakebread?

Just cuz what She said?

Y’all so well bred

12 Ways of White Bread

They makes me Wonder

Sometimes it’s how we keeps the Burns from goin’ Under

Makes a lot of Burners wanna Chunder

Who stole dat Thunder

Rent it asunder

Tore it up and STEP right up

This Buss got’s Blunder

Dre’s re-permitted

Y’all not fitted

The Lotto Joke
Wit Birthday suits bespoke

Know lines by rote

Took off my coat and rolled ’em

Left in the cold dem

Spit polish it’s a turd gem

Oh no you know

It just became the places you may no longer wanna go

Urge Over Blow

To get a leg up

Done cooked the goose that lays

Dem golden eggs up

And just one drink

From the dusty cup

You smell the skunk

Dat Punch You Drunk

Dey Punk’d You’d Snuck you in a  inna in da Trunk-a

Box filled with junka

The trunk’s old junk’s got newly lighter

The hand that bite her

Just make it brighter