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"The Last Huzzah!" lyrics by MR. MUTHAFUCKIN' EXQUIRE
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"The Last Huzzah!"
[feat. Despot, Das Racist, Danny Brown & El-P]

Breast milk, you made my day
Know we had to do a remix right
Take that, take that

[Intro: Heems & Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire]
Drunk driving on a Wednesday
With three bitches in an MPV
Half a gallon of Georgie Porgie
And cranberry: that's the P.O.P
Love passion, a recipe for terror
We mix them shits together and then we have an orgy
We here, this life forever
We never gonna stop, you with us, lemme hear you scream

[Verse 1: Despot]
One vodka soda poured over 4-leaf clovers
He be the luckiest fuck this side of the rainbow you know of
He seen the blood and the guts and the gang signs get thrown up
He seen the fight and the fuss for that same pot of gold
But he hold the dice and he roll em and if he lose, it's a hold up
Plus got them sticks and them stones that'll bust them thin brittle bones up
Won't switch his pitch or his tone up for no one bitch, he a grown up
The kid is so so-what they didn't think he would show up
Slow up, happy to be here, muster up three cheers
Hip-hip, who are you; hear, hear
Huzzah sis-boombah, queue the fanfare
Go fetch the man of the year, a goddamn chair
He's half there, ditched the other half willy-nilly
Buss how he hit the town, cocked back, slapping it silly
Don't beat him while he down off whatever his favorite swill be
I ain't a killa but don't kill me

[Verse 2: Kool A.D.]
Beer and whiskey shots, weirder than 50
Pac, Biggie, or Ricky Ross
I'm Jiggy, I'm Vicky Vasquez
Don't love the game, shot clocking above the game
Ballers and shotcallers be calling me Bob Costas
I'm Immortal Technique: I'm Obnoxious
Hella-people telling me to stop it
Probably be jealous cause we sell it at a profit
Keenan and Kellin' it and it's awesome
I'm Nas man, I'm God's Son, nah dunn, I'm on One
I'm dumb, I don't got guns dude
But let's battle and see who sons who
I'm reading Sun-Tzu, translating Don Killuminati into Spanish
Wrapping my body in bandages

[Verse 3: Heems]
Drunk driving on a Wednesday, all my friends be rapping
They always be writing, wake up tomorrow, like what happened
The verse done, and it's always aiite tho
Ayo, Michael Jackson is Monty Python
All of y'all pricks can suck my dick
I'm stupid as shit, but I'm bout to be rich
I'm at the Pizza Hut, I'm at the Taco Bell
The combination made my eyes bleed
It's serving and swerving the nervous MC
I'll rap on the track if my friends let me
You guys aiite, but I ain't tryna have an orgy
The Jameson, the ginger ale, occasionally the Georgi
The Popov, the Dubra, all of that shit
Proper and super, they falling back quick
I got three shirts and they all look expensive
2000 Volkswagen mad old and dented
Skateboard P, Ashanti: foolish
The worst rapper on this track, third coolest

[Verse 4: Danny Brown]
Straight shots of Cuervo, blunts to the neck
Got a rat bitch that smoke blacks until the plastic melt
My legacy is shining like a diamond on a tanning bed
Climbing on you niggas, put the iron to your head
Instead, you niggas tryin' to get ahead
Like a stray bullet, you niggas misled
I'm about my bread, you ain't, you can roll
Try and stop that, get a bagel-sized hole
Cause it a' been nice, heat the house, use a stove
Took a cold bath to walk to school in the snow
Now I take it back, when these niggas was fronting
Now I got something, they ain't worried about nothing, nigga
Me and my niggas about to take the world over
Me and my niggas about to take the world over
Rolling out a onion, blunts Paul Bunyan
Onion booty bitch crying, deep throating something

[Verse 5: El-P]
Straight shots of the sterno plus, wick stuck in the bottle empty
Three blocks to the target we light it and lob it hard at Sentry
Four pigs of the oinking variety guard the market entry
Five minutes of flames and then aim the whistle my father lent me
Six o'clock we meet up and divvy the shells among the youngins
Seven continents in the shit and smoke like it's fuckin London
Just before they ate up the funds our harmony love was bumping
Now government issue nines and point em where your blood is pumping
Tend to mop up these muttering zombies talker pieces
El'll ven (t) on you harder than Fukushima breezes
In the end when a dozen or so ajourn to reason
You'll find the verdict return corrupted in murderous seasons
With inverted 31's and other unlucky omens
That's why I chug 7 and 7's til I'm fucking homeless
And every time you think my fifteen minutes of fame are up
I'll spit another sixteen to prove to the world I fucking own it

[Verse 6: Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire]
Damn it feel good to see people up on it
Couple thousand views on Youtube a nigga still hungry
No food in my stomach and my pockets fucked up
Plus my mother still work so why should I give a fuck?
Fuck a blog, fuck a label, fuck a meeting, fuck an A&R
Fuck a co-sign, mothafucka fuck it all
Still lost as Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye
Skull fuck her, smut, nuttin' try to catch her in the eye
Big belly still take my shirt off like Nelly
Rasta pasta for Footprints buy liquor out the deli and shit
My pops negligence done made me rebellious
Arrested Development the rest is irrelevant
Fuck a throne watch the project bench covered in pigeon shit
This for my nigga Los 'til we see him again
Stretch a nigga like a regular tee from the outlet
Hidin' my rhyme book from the grammaton clerics
Mishka bear, obnoxious as Roger Klotz
I plot as the clock tick tocks to make the world suck my cock
Validated in every wrong decision I ever did
My ex girlfriend thought I wouldn't ever be shit
Well looky here bitch my dick grew 6 inches since then
Will I make it out the projects? I guess it depends, huzzah, bitch!

[Thanks to bob for correcting these lyrics]

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