Lyrics of a song MC Chris - Ten Year Old

what’s my name? mc. and what do I do? rap. md’s screaming need 50 cc’s of mc stat.
er staff be freakin’ like mariah on the rag. mc chris squeezin’ contents out of tiny
plastic bags. it’s like hypnotizin’ eyes and gettin’ digits on the pad. legs seperate
like hyphens because mc’s still the mack. identify the items by the bar code on the
tag. identify the rapper cuz he’s knee deep in the vag. I got my glocks cocked, I got
my nine’s primed, I got my crosshairs locked on kelly lebrock’s behind, I got my lungs
locked on chemotherapy kind, I got more rhyme than shel silverstein and shakespeare
combined.

chorus – I sound like a ten year old or so I’ve been told, but you don’t need a voice
that’s low to make the microphone gold. other’s claim that they be midas but they got
laryngitis, so whyn‘cha kick it with the mc with the voice that’s the highest. so come on.

what’s my name? mc. and what do I do? rock. I’m intimidating jocks and inseminating socks,
I’m infiltrating flocks of fembots, high off that hemlock, mud wrestling bittie buttocks
like ox. let’s knock chucks cuz we can’t afford boots. let’s get high aka pull tubes.
don’t ask why, just let it all loose, watch this mike get abused, watch me change your
attitude. call me gavin, I’m the captain of this carnival cruise. kathie lee lets me rub
my dick on her boobs. seems tweens in cleavage jeans is many a man’s muse, all mc needs
is just a bucket of booze. watch me, blow a load on your butt tattoo, watch me, come back
for seconds like it’s chinese food. no one can hear you scream, cuz it’s a soundproof
room. I’m done, get the fuck out, send in number two!

repeat chorus

what’s my name? mc. and what do I do? roll. I’m all up in that shit like it’s fuckin camel
toe. olsen twins on my dick like it’s a stripper pole. if you’re hooked on the shit, my
middle name is methadone. so, let’s do this quick so no one will ever know. mc nice got
more ice than a fuckin’ eskimo. he’s not whack nickleback singing songs for michelobe.
jigga man, why you treat me like animal? at the mall, at the park, rollerink, backyard,
soft hearted bard who makes the hardcore hard. I weigh a buck fiddy, stand 5.5, and when
I muff dive, you see the fuckin fur fly. don’t own a celly, my sneakers is my ride, been
disgraced, demoted, I been denied. all my fan mail says someday that I’ll get signed.
mc chris, lower case, no dots, rewind.

repeat chorus

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