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    [Chainsaw revving]

    Got a shit-eatin' grin
    Bitch, show me them itty-bitty titties again
    We're in Sin City
    Since when did we begin to get 'dicted to dope
    Diggity, bitch, you need to run
    And go get your frigity-friends
    I'm lookin' at your bum-stickity-bum, hun
    The mickity mack's bickity back, don't act wickity-wack
    You can get the fickity-finger; the middle
    You little dizzy bitch, sit and spig-a-tee-spin
    Got a 6 o'clock cravin', stop, get Ciroc
    It's 'bout to be an unbelievable night
    I called it surreal, Sir Mix-a-Lot tape in
    Hit the spot, spot my next victim
    I'm picky like I missed a spot shavin'
    Came to sip vodka, shit
    Yeah, that little chick is hot but if she got rabies
    I wouldn't give the bitch a shot, I'd poke her in the rear
    But I bet if I licked her, she'd try to chase me (Ha-ha)
    What are you: pit, rott, mixed?
    Or you just got fixed, well, shit, then let's lip-lock
    If not, then chicks, piss off, you snobby little pig snot nose
    You think you're hot shit cause you're in heat
    Well, bitch, if you're solar, then I'm your polar opposite, dog
    Cause I'm colder than popsicle sticks, poppin' shit
    Talkin' it, walkin' it, spit boxin'
    My sick thoughts are 'bout to lick shots
    Like this shit's hoppin'
    And drip-droppin' in chocolatey whip-toppin'
    So whether you're hip-hop, Slipknot, B. I. G., Pac
    Kid Rock, Kris Kross, Rick Ross, you'll dig this
    If not, then kick rocks in flip flops
    And I produced the track
    So you don't have to ask who it is
    When this shit knocks (Turn up!)
    So bring clairvoyance to this bangin'
    And I'm a keep on sayin'
    All the shit I should be hung for
    And probably killed for sayin'
    And I probably will, but not until the day I pop a pill again
    Like choppin' 'til I'm droppin'
    Still if that don't do the job of killin' Shady
    Then the karma will
    They sayin' I must bring it as Mohammad
    Until the Parkinson's done eat away my brain
    And made me Robin Williams crazy
    Or I end up with dementia, but you rockin' with a sadist
    Hate to say this, but if the thought is entertainin'
    I ain't stoppin' till we sprayed it
    Oh my god, for real man, not again I'm shakin'
    But before I tie a rope around this nob
    If they don't like it, got a knob that they can slob on until
    Wait, I just forgot what I was thinkin'
    What's it called again? I'm blankin'
    The thing above the balls between my legs
    And I think I can feel it dangling
    It's throbbing and it's veiny
    Wait, I think I got it, okay, bitch I got you
    Robin Williams hangin'
    Go hang in the lobby unless you came to slob me
    Come on kemosabe
    It's past time, like your favorite hobby
    Cause if the way that I spit shit remains on my dick
    Then she grab me by the nuts
    And tried to take my sausage as a hostage
    Ain't it obvious? Pretty much a no brainer
    Or should I say Cobainer?
    That she's plain addicted to my dick like Lorena Bobbit
    Gotta wean her off it, weiner off it
    Like she took my fucking penis, chopped it
    And stuck it up between her armpits
    And she begun to swing a crumpet knife
    And paint the carpet, at least
    That's what her train of thought is
    Cause I came, saw, conquered, hit it, quit it
    And made up a plate of bonkers
    And I always end up giving these bitches some complex
    And I don't mean apartment
    So spread your feet apart
    And let me see you do some yoga stretches, splits
    Now grab this Cuisinart
    And make me breakfast, bitch, that's a prerequisite
    And that's just to get in this bedroom, bitch
    Walked up to that Ke$ha chick (what up?)
    Said my name is Booger, wanna catch a flick?
    I'll even let you pick, make her fetch a stick
    Bet you if you get this old dog these new tricks
    To get familiar with I'll learn extra quick
    Kick a pregnant bitch, oops, I guess the shit
    Took an unexpected twist
    Like the neck of the freaking exorcist
    Bitch, I said that this mask ain't for hockey
    Hate Versace, Versace, I got Münchhausen by proxy
    I'm making you sick, don't pretend you can't hear me
    You deaf, girl, I said you was foxy
    I'll tell a bitch like Bizarre
    Bitch, shut the fuck up and get in my car
    And suck my fucking dick while I take a shit
    And I think with my dick so come blow my mind
    And it tastes like humble pie
    So swallow my pride, you're lucky just to follow my ride
    If I let you run alongside the Humvee
    Unless you're Nicki, grab you by the wrist, let's ski
    So what's it gon' be? Put that shit away Iggy
    You gon' blow that rape whistle on me
    (Squee!) I love it
    'Fore I get lost with the gettin' off
    Like this is our exit, now lets hit the highway
    And try not to get lost
    'Till we get to Las Vegas

    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)
    'Till we get to Las Vegas
    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)
    'Till we get to Las Vegas
    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)
    'Till we get to Las Vegas
    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)

    Whatever happens here, stays here
    So let's go all the way dear
    Til we get to Las Vegas

    [Royce da 5'9]
    Whatever happens in my room
    It stays in my room like movie night like cable
    Treat every women in my stable like flavors
    Looking like she kryptonite and I get weak after like 7 days
    In 7 nights in the Days Inn, it's Hot Vegas
    We roll in circles and packs, we the lifesavers
    She got a boyfriend, I got a toy then
    I'll bring it with me when I show up to her crib waving
    And I ain't tryna meet a nice neighbor
    I'm so Jay Electronic, I'm cut like I'm all out of razors
    And all I got is a gun left with a bayonet on it
    Neck so frozen it look like I walked in a jewelry store
    With a about a million dollars with your mama
    And sat down did an ALS challenge, haan
    I stole that adlib from French, Bad & Evil back at it again
    About to get my back tatted again
    About to get a pic of a backstabber with an axe in his hand
    Sitting on a bike in the sand
    If you ain't been through nothing
    Then that shouldn't mean nothing to you
    Like likes on the Gram
    If she current I keep her pussy
    Purring like the pipes on a Lamb
    Weed got her so chinky eyed
    Look like she been getting high on a flight to Japan
    I keep my jewelry on while I'm fucking
    Sound like I'm shaking up dice in a can
    Listen, though this ain't Christmas I make you my ex miss
    If this is my passion
    I learn to give those who don't appreciate my presence
    The gift of my absence
    I don't know who you been listening to
    Got me fucked up like Pookie in the chicken coop
    Bitch, I don't give a two shits
    Bitch, get the fuck out of my face
    To make a long story short, I don't really gotta stand there
    And listen to you while you throw a silly tantrum
    Even though I have an affinity for a witty banter
    Starting to feel like foulplay like Billy Laimbeer
    Hold up, she misunderstood me
    I said saint, por favor
    Thought I said the Wraith had four doors
    I knock a nigga face off
    Give him the bottom of the nine
    Like a baseball scoreboard (whatever...)
    I leave the club with my tab still open
    Won't even get a cab for you and your friend
    The only fear I have is of loathing
    And I won't even kick in 'till we get to Las Vegas

    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)
    'Till we get to Las Vegas
    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)
    'Till we get to Las Vegas
    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)
    'Till we get to Las Vegas
    (Party, do it 'till tomorrow)

    Whatever happens here, stays here
    So let's go all the way dear
    Til we get to Las Vegas

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