Текст песни
Chorus:
(4x) Jack Frost nipping at your nose
(sample of Nat King Cole)
I'm sporting trippled down rain gear.
Dumping on flying rain deer
And that overweight queer with the red and white sleeping apparrel.
Sliding down the chimneys, but staring down this double barrel.
I'm putting Santa on alphabet-i-cal med-i-cal.
It's survival of the fittest, as the milineum approaches.
By then the only existing life on Earth is real niggaz and roaches.
But see,
I'm colder than nuclear winters, so concoct the con-tender.
I'm make a nigga change agenda.
Change gender. Change men ta
Feminine. Women in masculine genetalia.
Seasons beatings 憈il the next Saturnalia.
Ain't no competing. Defeating all persons in paraphenalia.
Compel me to inhale the aroma.
"I smell. I smell. I smell PUSSY!"
My nigga could use some heart like a fucking organ donor.
And conflict? Whenever you plan it, I'm a split it like the equator.
My Sanskrit box n' liquid nitrogen strike the mics colder than polar.
I'm like "Wonder Twins Activate!": pimp in the form of icy boulder.
Missed assist sister. Fool, I'll make your scrotum blister.
Fool, if you ready to be the man then I'm a hit ya
Like Baul Mixler: the ideal.
I'm the rhyming Simon Phoenix with that "murder, death, kill."
You got me all fucked up. I'm the abominable flow-man.
Kiss ya ass goodbye. Your record deal was standing under missle toe.
And! I'm Mandingo. My cultural experiences doesn't include Kris
Kringle.
Celebrating Satan匩o, sorry: Santa.
It continues to be a mind boggler
When black people be picking shit off the ground
And eating it like a toddler.
I shoot the gift like Kwanzaa.
That holiday is pagan. 626 like Mazda
And a billion bucks of fuck
That's bringing up the slack in the gross national product.
I guaduct. My mind avalanches expressions
And from papas erection and mama'sC-section.
Before nore plant contraception conception.