Popsnot

Lyrics

[Intro: sampled dialogue] "Hey, Vik, I've been going over some of your notes and I'm afraid you're a couple of decimal points off on some of your figures" "Out! I have no time for you" "Okay! Find out for yourself!" [Verse 1: Viktor Vaughn] It lasts longer if you take a picture, it's Viktor the Slickster I pick her, sip Schlitz Malt Liquor Still up in the mixture like a fixture Y'all seen the sticker with the sick filling: "VIKSTA" He stacks chips by any which way And keep black lips, fuck what any bitch say It ain't no time for no tit-for-tat Y'all better aim for the head, just don't hit the fitted hat When it's his time to go, it's his time to go As for right now though – 'The Hour Show' rhyme flow He got more of those that lines for dime ho's That act fancy, with more clothes than Delancey Don't let him house you out on Houston Or catch you downtown on Broadway, browsin' Whoever got the most bags get followed Give it up or get you and the old hag hollowed "Smash!" It's Viktor the Slickster [Chorus: samples] "Watch out!" "Smash!" "Watch out!" "Watch out!" [Verse 2: Viktor Vaughn] It's like limbo, how low can you go? V go lower than your bimbo panty-ho Damn yo, I say that's pretty damn low In the city streets with more ammo than Rambo "Hambo" – y'all don't want V in it Make the coolest cat piss his Coogi in a minute When he blow and get ballin' at the top slot 20 G's a head for whoever calling cop shot Kack, kack, kack, kack, kack — popsnot [Chorus: samples] "Watch out!" "Watch out!" "Watch out!" "Smash! You ain't seen shit yet" "Smash!" [Verse 3: Viktor Vaughn] Tender-headed, get they wig split with 'Fro Sheen V manufacture gun cleaning kits for Podine Party people ask him, "How you so mean And still quiet? Could it be the codeine in your diet?" I'm like, "What I look like? A doctor?!" Let the pork stop, I got the clear meat, the vodka Cork top, step up the hustle like the new guy Gun bustin' and drugs, the penalties' too high Makes you wonder who they speak for It's only one side benefitin' off the street war And it's heat galore, just to make it badder Many gone stab they own man up, like Jacob Ladder I still worry when I'm out on the hop hot Drill a ill flurry that might bop your knot I fill the Bill Murray, get more run than The Wop got Shop for a yacht (*glouckpp!*) — popsnot *glouck*... *glouck*... *glouck*