DJ Lambs-a-Lot - Otty Otto vs. Peenut King lyrics

[DJ Lambs] All right, all right, holy sh** Right here we got the battle of the buddies Otty Otto vs. Peenut King Get him, your highness [Peenut King] Yo, how you think you're gonna best me in this showdown? You came here with a fringe jacket like it's a hoedown This ain't a rodeo, clown, but I can't expect you to know this sh** I don't know if you've noticed it, you like in a barrel, dawg Oh, damn, I'm getting Otis pissed He's infuriating, maddening, become bitter The only way this dick's a jailbird, is if he litters Otters belong in the river, not in a f**ing trashcan Oh, I've pissed him off, he's 'bout to go smash, bam! Crashing into sh** like he's a f**ing dreidel at Hanukkah You shouldn't even entered this battle, you're a goner, bra Diamond, carats, ducats, gold, platinum, bronze f**ing crown atop my head, while you got your barrel and your long johns You're f**ing dead, muskrat, you're going down at dusk, cat Got you in the guillotine, at the gallows, not on the mat I'm in the lab cooking up a storm for you to smoke A nose-full of methamphetamine will make you croak Just imagine the h**n-induced stroke What's the matter with your grimace, dawg? Can't you take a joke? You're getting pigeonholed as a white trash barrel-ridden bum You're stuttering over there like you got a mouthful of cum You look like you just chugged a fifth of rum I'm bagging you're f**ing face, and you're the scum [DJ Lambs] Oh, sh** What a rap Damn nice flows Okay, let's hear it river rat [Otty Otto] All hail beloved King Peenut Leader of the chivalry Royal f**ing emperor I'm seeping down your pant-leg like f**ing piddle, see I'm taking you down, single or double leg, it don't matter You'll drink till you tingle, or bubble keg, like you're the last batter And you f** up You calling me pigeonholed? Your snobby, rich white a** Didn't struggle growing up, you have a fabricated past You're looking aggravated, as if I won already Cause your raps made me wanna vomit like Marshall Mather's mom's spaghetti When I set up my raps I had an arsenal gather My flows so wet and sharp, acting like cervical slashers One of Simba's sons should've been king Your dad murdered his way to the top But then when you murdered him, you act like you and Simba's positions swapped He could've still been king, he wasn't bedridden or comatose When I f** these raps, you can sniff an aroma rose You're a f**ing f*ggot p**y Peenut You are not a king You got caught in the back of your throne Doing a Clinton, with an intern s**ing your ding-a-ling [DJ Lambs] Oh sh** Two great raps but the river raps overcame you Sorry, your highness Good job Double O