[Verse One: Trent Holt]
b**hes love me because I've got a hairy bu*tcrack
I snort crack
Watch p**n as
Kick Steve Buscemi in his f**ing nutsack
You weed rap?
Man, f** that
I'm on some PCP
Take a hit, dude
And do Jiu Jitsu with Mace Windu
A ditch just won't offend me
I hear them and I chop up more powder, dude
And all it does is make me more powerful
When I'm at that liquor store
Don't look at me, I'm shopping b**h
But when I got the mask on
Get down because I'm robbing it
Told my parents I was going to rap
They told me, “Try it trent!”
They heard my tape
And sent me off to see a Psychiatrist
Need my medication for psoriasis
It's getting in my eyes and sh**
Probably going to be dead by the time I finish writing this
It's LB, Nipple Gang
f**ing Teen Titan, b**h
I talk to dead people
And got them to ghost write the sh**
If you're scared
Don't be a b**h
Go buy a gun, then
Guarantee, when I die
I'm going out like Ryan Dunn did
Ill enough to go up to Cher
Call her a stupid who*e
f** her, get her number
Then fly away on a unicorn
My brain's about the size of an acorn
Went to distant levies [?] and saw them filming a gay p**n
My brain's fried
I've got a quarter gone
Me and Sean are Cheech and Chong
Bong rip
Hot-Box a porta john
Yeah
And don't mention me like the lord in vain
I'm Voldemort and rapping
And he [you] must not be named
I rap on supersonic depressants
You can play my music backwards for Illuminatic messages
[Hook]
Leedle, Leedle
Picklebuck
(Picklebuck!)
Leedle, Leedle
(Leedle!)
Picklebuck
(Pickle!)
Leedle, Leedle
(I got a pickle!)
Picklebuck
Leedle, Leedle
Lunch Bunch
b**hes
Lunch Bunch
(b**hes!)
Lunch Bunch
Leedle, Leedle
Picklebuck
(Pickle!)
Leedle, Leedle
Lunch Bunch
(f**.)
Sincerely
With a fruit cup
[Verse Two: Trent Holt]
Dude, what
I keep my sh** tight, you're just a loose bu*t
Screw guns, save the ammunition just to shoot s*uts
Check my shirts and all you see it cats and kittens
There ain't nothing at my school
But a bunch of fake a** b**hes
I'm sick of all you lames that act the same
I guess I'm different
And I'm sick of nagging bosses
b**hing while I'm washing dishes
In school I never said much
Too busy plotting red-rum
Suburban, swerving, lurking in your closet with a handgun
f** everybody else
Nipple Gang bangs harder
We bless sh**
Your parents banging in your bedroom
I'm not a f*ggot rapper clown
That has to go down town
Because he's too fake
To film his videos on Bennet Lane
sh**, might have to attack and rob a b**h
You have to keep it moving when you have a lack of confidence
It's ludacris
The bodies in my backyard is numerous
Stick my nuts inside my microwave and get a tumor, b**h
It isn't humorous
And please, I don't express exuberance
Stab him in his f**ing funny bone
And leave him humorous
It's do or die
And likely I'll demise because of suicide
Kick a f**ing bucket
Because I'm straight up out the sewer pipe
I, go to the produce market
That's where the girls are
Record myself jacking off
And post the sh** on World Star
You got a problem?
You can eat sh** and die
And you can call me the illest motherf**er alive
(f*ggot)
[Outro]
Yeah, (x3)
Where the buck shot?
Uhh, (x3)
And I'm feeling like the illest motherf**er alive (x3)
And I…
And I'm feeling like the illest motherf**er alive (x3)
The illest
b**hes
Bye