Y’all motherfuckers need to show some respect to Canada. Decade after decade, year after year, shit; it may as well be month after month these days, we keep pumping out the artists like we were at the sperm bank. It’s like we can’t even get our swerve on without spitting out another platinum producing progeny of pimp these days. Celine, Avril, Alanis, and that fire-spitting G named Snow; y’all know we’ve had the airwaves on lock for years. We’re fucking your dome, son, by way of your trick-ass ear canal. For real, you thought we were serious before but, naw, we was just playing. Y’all think you had the rap game on lock but I’m here to tell you that the game done changed and y’all bitches need to call a locksmith because we’ve got the master key.
My homeboy is going to turn the hip-hop world on it’s flat-assed, high-faded head. He’s got more game than Tiger Woods AFTER the divorce, he’s got more flava than Vanilla (you know the one) and his rhymes are tighter than a Dugger’s love tunnel. Dude is gangster personified and he’ll take your respect from you if you don’t just give it to him and be thankful for the opportunity. This hard motherfucker is so swole, he got called names by a twelve year old and didn’t even beat that ass. He went after that bitch the way real men do: in the media. My man’s got so much flow you couldn’t stop him with a Tampax. The rest of the world had better step its game up, yo, because Shawty Mane is taking NO prisoners.
“Sack like a slacker,
Hello Mr. Brady
Tell em’ leave the hair for the guy who sings Baby”
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit son! Y’all just got served!