Cannons For Nick By Denace
Will the real Slim Shady please stand up
Please stand up
Hey Saint Nicholas
Merry Christmas
And my condolences
Sorry to interrupt your avocado
Toast and guacamole chips
You white bitch
Nice clique
That’s so cute
I haven’t seen a boy band
Dance like that since ’02
America’s got talent
But you don’t
Poor you
Nice black and white video, Nick
You broke, dude?
By the way
That invitation you sent to my address
Got caught in my junk mail
Punk fa-
Let me calm down
Before I start spazzin batshit
And dropping rappers
Faster that lean and xanax tablets
Oh shit, I’m screaming
Sorry, Nick
But you need more panhandlers
To get Marshall to lower his damn standards
So here’s Stan
I’ll let Mariah carry my orgasm
On her face
Now that’s nuts
Like your acting
I just ordered food
And one of your rappers
Door Dashed me
And asked for the tip
I didn’t know what he meant
So I gave him the dick
Blew him a kiss
Then hocked a loogie ‘n spit
Onto Conceited
Midget little groupie bitch
Ok, Stanley
You need to relax ‘fore you relapse
Conceited throwing fists around
Everyone cover your kneecaps!
Look over your shoulder, Nick
That’s your career it’s over Nick
It’s so ridiculous
The way you hope and spit
I slowly drip
The passion of the holy ghost
And you’re just holy shit
Give me a second
Let me pray for him
Ok, we’re done
Let’s get back to it
You know what rhymes with Charlie Clips?
What?
Garbage bin
What else?
MTV’s cast member with the largest tits (Oh)
You ain’t got the heart for this
Seriously, it’s shaking like Parkinson’s
Every bar he spits
Sounds like a retarded bitch
Gargling a jar of jizz
But enough of this fat fuck Clips
Someone better tell Nick
Back up, quick
‘Fore I slash that wrist
With an axe and split
That turban on his head
Cause I rack (Iraq) up wins
Never heard a song so possibly dog shit
Honestly, can you stop it
He claims there’s a video
Sucking dick
He is just mad that it’s not his (bitch)
You a C-tier level urban celeb
On percocet meds
That have burned through ya head
Aids?
You should be making a documentary
On Mariah’s herpes instead
You got Suge that’s not good
Everybody knows that pussy works for the feds
I could get more truth
From a flat-earther with dreads
Who only surfs on the web
Oh wow, you a violent shooter?
Stop lying now or I’ma lose it
And take a shot of Jack
Like I am Kubrick
And shove a pool stick
Inside of you, Nick
Why? Just for my amusement
I like to do it
My mind is ruined
Why? Cause I’m influenced
By Mariah’s wine and nitrous cool whip
Talking ’bout guns like I ain’t got none
What you think I sold ’em all?
That’s like saying, “Whoah, you’re tall!”
To Conceited, we all know it’s false
Aye, hold up, dawg
Who’s that hoe you got?
Justina? I just seen ya
And honestly though you was just Cena (haha)
Plus you can’t flow at all
Follow protocol
And find a pro to call
Because overall
It is over (Aww)
You airheaded fake fuck slut
You suck and will never blow up, doll
C’mon, Nick
What’s the formula, bro?
Someone please call boredom control
How did you cook up the corniest show
And the hardest dude on it is Corey Charron
I’ll stab him in the orbital bone
With a fork and throw rope
Over this dork’s sorcerer stone
Enough of this
Ya’ll need to hang it up, cunt
Like abortion at home
Aye, yo, stop this whack beat
Looks like Charlie grew up
And ate the whole chocolate factory
This dude’s on the feed more
Than Hannah Stocking’s ass cheeks
Aye, yo, that’s awfully hot coffee pot
Here’s an army shot at Charlie’s top
Nick, he threw me a hail mary
You’re not even partly ‘Pac
I wonder how many mollies popped in the parking lot
Before you came to ruin your career, like Papa Doc
And also, fuck you Chris D’Elia
I’m kidding, man
I think you’re funny
Um, just invite me to your podcast
