[Instrumental] [Lotto] I'll spit a racial slur, honky, sue me. The sh** is a horror flick, but the black guy doesn't die in this movie You messin' with Lotto, dawg, you gotta be kiddin' That makes me believe you really don't have a interest in livin' You think these n***as gon' feel the sh** you say? I got a better chance joinin' the KKK On some real sh** though, I like you. That's why I didn't wanna have to be the one you commit suicide to f** "Lotto", call me your leader. I feel bad that I gotta murder that dude from Leave It To Beaver I used to like that show, now, you got me in fight back mode But, oh well, if you gotta go, then you gotta go I hate to do this, I would love for this sh** to last So I'll take pictures of my rear end so you won't forget my a** And all's well, that ends OK So I'll end this sh** with a f** you and have a nice day [B-Rabbit] Ward, I think you were a little hard on the beaver So was Eddie Haskell, Wally, and Ms. Cleaver This guy keeps screamin', he's paranoid Quick! Someone get his a** another steroid! Blah Badi Boo Blah Bah Badi Blo Blah I ain't hear a word you said: hipidi hoo blah! Is that a tank top or a new bra? Look! Snoop Dogg just got a f**in' b**b job Didn't you listen to the last round, meathead? Pay attention! You're sayin' the same sh** that he said Matter of fact, dawg, here's a pencil Go home, write some sh**, make it suspenseful And don't come back until somethin' dope hits you f** it, you can take the mic home with you Lookin' like a cyclone hit you Tank top screaming, "Lotto, I don't fit you!" You see how far the white jokes get you Boys like, "How Vanilla Ice gon' diss you?" My motto: f** Lotto I'll get the seven digits from your mother for a dollar tomorrow