MCG Groove

I like clappin' cheeks Discrete When I roll up, Tesla Fuckin' on a bitch named Esther You best step back lil youngin' or I'll bop ya Pickin' on my nostrils Chillin' in my helicopter Whir I blur the line between based and cringe Spitting fire, that's why my hair is singed Minge is plentiful The Centrelink queue's full So I'm sitting in silk My milk Sprays the face of your dear brother Another Rube couldn't dare try Such crudeness The loosest cunt Since that chick with octuplets F*ck it's BEAT MEAT The Admiral, Monk and Rogue I punch loads Down the throats of widowers and divorcees My horse neighs as I ride into the sunset Your son gets off To the thought of my rump It's disturbing I'm high as Sandy Irvine I'm serving Coked out bisexual goth in the club Mo matter how many lines I flub You're still vibing Rackin' Vyvanse off the back of Inland taipans My plan involves nitroglycerin A thirty-five year old vixen's tits and Mail order catalogues I live a travel blogger's life Just less irritating and more op-shops Dodging pot-shots from the cops In Buck Bumble A humbler man cannot be seen in history Bitch, it's The Admiral Captain Clu$terfuck Of the SS Muffdiver Carving a bald eagle with a fine line scriber