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V. Vaughn, the traveling Vaudeville Villain |
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Who don't give a flying **** who ain't not feeling him |
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Watch what ya' dealing him: ace, king, death card |
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Strong-arm the wrong man, pardon the left, god |
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Get money and earn it, that everything you touch turn shit |
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Got much to learn kid, light it up burn shit |
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Light it up like the Dutch when the hash melt |
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Only time they see him when they need him with the cash belt |
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Ay carumba, now that's my number |
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One dry summer, as far as I remember |
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Burnt out, but gaining every edgy penny |
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Then he hit him straight to the head like Reggie Denny |
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Call him back when you need some more 'gnac, Horshack |
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Doing 80 down the Van Wyck on horseback |
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Ya' man sick but he wreck tracks, puto |
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Get back too bro', exactamundo |
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Viktor the director flip a script like Rob Reiner |
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The way a lotta dudes rhyme their name should be "knob shiner" |
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For a buck, they'd likely dance the Jig or do the Hucklebuck |
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To Vik it's no big deal, they're just a buncha knuckle-****s |
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You wonder how well will they hold up in a holding cell |
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It sorta had the strange makings of a tale told in hell |
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Like "Oh well," hold tall riches |
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If the Feds is really after 'em they just told all the snitches |
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On borrowed-time rhymes, gassed by the silver screen |
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They act like their monkey ass can heal back like Wolverine |
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Mellow out what y'all bellow out ya' yellow mouth |
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What happened to the kinda spit that used to help a fellow out? |
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No doubt, leave a rapper in a body cast |
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And wonder what he was doing while we was in a karate class |
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Snotty ass, it's really like he was a white-belt |
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Right before he "night-night" ask him how the light felt |
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Wouldn't take their tape if they gave it free |
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Maybe it's me, maybe it's V! |
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Throw down the key, y'all know how shit be |
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In the naked city, rappers is so giddy |
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That's no ditty, Vaughn so witty |
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The way he take no prisoners and show no pity |
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It's how son became a big man from a Black boy |
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To name names, a really big fan of Dan Akroyd |
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He feel they need to give him his own dance |
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This his only chance to shoot the gift like a lone glance |
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Or like a beef scene that leave the oo-ey smoking |
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Or between Hoktuo Shinken and Nanto Koukakuken |
