This is the mediocre show six-pack all music every week.

email requests to toilet at mediocre show.

com. 9, 6, 6! 5! Yo Duke, you're dead wrong, you never have the skills like mine, I write the ill-type

rhymes, now I'm reaching my prime.

360 dunk in your face, you can't compete, you're just a basket case, let's separate the men

from the boards.

And put your money with your mouth there's no time for toys.

Your game is weak, you geeks, so don't sleep,

because I'll be checking you, wrecking it when I start to creep through the back door.

I know I caught you out there you got no cloud here and I doubt there

Is any way that you can stop the beat down you ought to play the background and sit back down chumps like you

I gotta keep them in line.

So prepare to suffer boy.

Because now you're mine. I fake your left and go right straight down the lane here's one in your eye

you feel pain your strain to put together some strategy but your raggedy and I'll be glad to see the

frown on your grill when I drill and thrill set up my offense commenced to kill I'll be

leading from beginning to end and after I pound you you're gonna want to make friends

and make amends for the silly trashy we're talking take a walk and your shots I'm swatting

with ease and the ladies are spooning clock in my swiftness while you're drooling.

Y'all out of practice up and get your game refined.

I've been waiting to doggy.

And now you're mine. Hurry up, sucker, go ahead and pick your squad, try to play hard, but I'm a rob you of your crazy notions to defeat me your weak seat

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