Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire - The Last Huzzah (Remix) lyrics

rate me

Breast milk, you made my day

Know we had to do a remix right

Take that, take that

Drunk driving on a Wednesday

With three bitches in an MPV

Half a gallon of Georgie Porgie

And cranberry: that's the P.O.P

Love passion, a recipe for terror

We mix them shits together and then we have an orgy

We here, this life forever

We never gonna stop, you with us, lemme hear you scream

[Verse 1: Despot]

One vodka soda poured over 4-leaf clovers

He be the luckiest fuck this side of the rainbow you know of

He seen the blood and the guts and the gang signs get thrown up

He seen the fight and the fuss for that same pot of gold

But he hold the dice and he roll em and if he lose, it's a hold up

Plus got them sticks and them stones that’ll bust them thin brittle bones up

Won’t switch his pitch or his tone up for no more bitch, he a grown up

The kid is so so-what they didn't think he would show up

Slow up, happy to be here, muster up three cheers

Hip-hip, who are you; hear, hear

Huzzah sis-boombah, queue the fanfare

Go fetch the man of the year, a goddamn chair

He's half there, the other half willy-nilly

Plus gonna hit the town, cocked back, slapping it silly

Don't beat him while he down off whatever his favorite swill be

I ain't a killa but don't kill me

[Verse 2: Kool A.D.]

Beer and whiskey shots, weirder than 50

Pac, Biggie, or Ricky Ross

I'm Jiggy, I'm Vicky Vasquez

Don't love the game, shot clocking above the game

Ballers and shotcallers be calling me Bob Costas

I'm Immortal Technique: I'm Obnoxious

Hella-people telling me to stop it

Probably be jealous cause we sell it at a profit

Keenan and Kellin' it and it's awesome

I'm Nas man, I'm God's Son, nah dunn, I'm on One

I'm dumb, I don't got guns dude

But let's battle and see who sons who

I'm reading Sun-Tzu, translating Don Killuminati into Spanish

Wrapping my body in bandages

[Verse 3: Heems]

Drunk driving on a Wednesday, all my friends be rapping

They always be writing, wake up tomorrow, like what happened

The verse done, and it's always aiite tho

Ayo, Michael Jackson is Monty Python

All of y'all pricks can suck my dick

I'm stupid as shit, but I'm bout to be rich

I'm at the Pizza Hut, I'm at the Taco Bell

The combination made my eyes bleed

It's serving and swerving the nervous MC

I'll rap on the track if my friends let me

You guys aiite, but I ain't tryna have an orgy

The Jameson, the ginger ale, occasionally the Georgi

The Popov, the Dubra, all of that shit

Proper and super, they falling back quick

I got three shirts and they all look expensive

2000 Volkswagen mad old and dented

Skateboard P, Ashanti: foolish

The worst rapper on this track, third coolest

[Verse 4: Danny Brown]

Straight shots of Cuervo, blunts to the neck

Got a rat bitch that smoke blacks until the plastic melt

My legacy is shining like a diamond on a tanning bed

Climbing on you niggas, put the iron to your head

Instead, you niggas tryna get ahead

Like a stray bullet, you niggas mislead

I'm about my bread, you ain't, you can roll

Try and stop that, get a bagel-sized hole

Cause it a' been nice, heat the house, use a stove

Took a cold bath to walk to school in the snow

Now I take it back, when these niggas was fronting

Now I got something, they ain't worried about nothing, nigga

Me and my niggas about to take the world over

Me and my niggas about to take the world over

Rolling out a onion, blunts Paul Bunyan

Onion booty bitch crying, deep throating something

[Verse 5: El-P]

Straight shots of the sterno plus, wick stuck in the bottle empty

Three blocks to the target we light it and lob it hard at Sentry

Four pigs of the oinking variety guard the market entry

Five minutes of flames and then aim the whistle my father lent me

Six o'clock we meet up and divvy the shells among the youngins

Seven continents in the shit and smoke like it's fuckin London

Just before they ate up the funds our harmony love was bumping

Now government issue nines and point em where your blood is pumping

Ten(d) to mop up these muttering zombies talker pieces

El'll ven(t) on you harder than Fukashima breezes

In the end when a dozen or so ajourn to reason

You'll find the verdict return corrupted in murderous seasons

With inverted 31's and other unlucky omens

Thats why I chug 7 and 7's til I'm fucking homeless

And every time you think my fifteen minutes of fame are up

I'll spit another sixteen to prove to the world I fucking own it

[Verse 6: Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire]

Damn it feel good to see people up on it

Couple thousand views on Youtube a nigga still hungry

No food in my stomach and my pockets fucked up

Plus my mother still work so why should I give a fuck?

Fuck a blog, fuck a label, fuck a meeting, fuck an A&R

Fuck a co-sign, mothafucka fuck it all

Still lost as Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye

Skull fuck her, smut, nuttin' try to catch her in the eye

Big belly still take my shirt off like Nelly

Rasta pasta for Footprints buy liquor out the deli and shit

My pops negligence done made me rebellious

Arrested Development the rest is irrelevant

Fuck a throne watch the project bench covered in pigeon shit

This for my nigga Los 'til we see him again

Stretch a nigga like a regular tee from the outlet

Hidin' my rhyme book from the grammaton clerics

Mishka bear, obnoxious as Roger Klotz

I plot as the clock tick tocks to make the world suck my cock

Validated in every wrong decision I ever did

My ex girlfriend thought I wouldn’t ever be shit

Well looky here bitch my dick grew 6 inches since then

Will I make it out the projects? I guess it depends, huzzah, bitch!