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​Saliva

This song is by Viktor Vaughn and appears on the album Vaudeville Villain (2003).

He sold McDuft, get him

Great balls of fire, guess who just crawled out the muck or mire
That could make you trust a motherfuckin' liar
A real shuck and jiver, Vaughn never been a duck and diver
He spit on the mic, yuck, saliva
Hold it like a drunk driver, hold a CB on a sharp turn
Still clutchin' his chest from the heartburn
What's your handle? I need a Zantac, ock
And thanks before I blank into anaphylactic shock
Rock the disco, Chocolate on a crisco ho
Cock diesel and still tell a joke like Joe Piscopo
Tell 'em the basics, basically, break the Matrix
And just for kicks, make 'em gel like Asics
That's why they actin' standoffish
Eat the beat by hand like canned raw crawfish
Can you please pass the cocktail sauce?
You might as well know, hell is hot as hell boss
Tell my horse, he said, "Broads call me Vaughny"
I make sure I throws 'em back if they's too scrawny
Or boney, phony MCs use a stand-in
Leave him hangin' like if I ain't know where his hands been
Hussy, how 'bout we bloody up? You're just for me
Bust a knee then go finish study, a plush degree
True victory, a new sick story
I never met a chick that was too thick for me
Holy Moses, my old earth know me closest
On how I played the back and stayed bent like scoliosis
It's no puzzle, you can ask Doc Zizmor
The slow guzzle got your nizzle crooked like Biz's jaw
Drink like a fishy, she wish she was a Pisces
Live since back when twenty-five cents Icees
Used to turn your tongue the color red, now they want to fill ya full of lead
What the fuck that young fella said?
What kid? It's Vaughn the red blooded
Do yourself a favor or come on, get head butted
Yoke him if he run, I'll be there in a jiffy son
With the flame suppressor like off the 151
Quit your bitchin', or get blaow in your babble-box
Punishment for dry snitchin', so now eat this Travel Fox
You'll be aight once it pass through your yellow belly
Only thing he said was "Can you please pass the jelly?"
Homo say what? Like a promo play the cut
On the late night, before you touch the mic, get your weight right
A lot of crews like to act like a violent mob
They really need to just shut the fuck up like Silent Bob
Either that or get smoked like hickory
Should squash the beef and go wash their teeth quickly
Know the stee, write a rhyme like a mystery
And sign it on the bottom in calligraphy, "Your nigga, V"