Artist: Viro the Virus Album: Outbreak Song: Top Dog Typed by: DaSun Akbar (Intro) It's now time for our featured presentation Jersey's finest, it's gon' down Back in effect, alright, ok, check it out [Viro the Virus] Yeah, yeah, yeah Stampedin' like a psycho rhino It's the wino named Viro and I know You can't see my flow through either of your eye holes Try and get played like Tyco I snipe foes nocturnal wit night glow Then ride out back to the hide out to light dro Too much to deal wit Wit ill shit steal ya meal ticket real quick then flip the kill switch I'm bio-hazard rhymin' bastard Rap the mic in lightning flashes The rappers turn piles of ashes Multisyllabic wit court like status Cold Colt-45 and a ho tight in my attic Pour some out on the floor for Rick James Think of Dirt McGirt and do the same thang again From the womb to the tomb my momentum gains And music most fluid like it's dope in ya veins (Chorus) V shop cars like top dog An advocate to sex, drugs and hip-hop off the wall Sick, dope, dope, sick Yeah, to all of you and y'all and all of 'em Listen, V shop cars like top dog An advocate to sex, drugs and hip-hop off the wall Sick, dope, dope, sick Yeah, listen that full attention, you don't wanna miss 'em [Viro the Virus] Yo you can never play me like a jheri curl Even when I'm about to hurl off a St. Pauli Girl With no money for bubbly I still get bars deep in barkeeps from Coyote Ugly Got a PHD in Advance Flow Studies To keep it bouncin' like Man Show juggies Tighter then bosom buddies Good, Bad, and Hungry And got mad hoodrats that love me (Why?) Cuz I'm fluid and I'm well hung Do it till it's well done To leave losers wit their bells rung Bring the beef like meatloaf Every emcee's nightmare The fans say he's such a dream boat From a cloud of weed smoke I emerge With obscene quotes and rhymes wit fightin' words Out for glory and whores wit nice curves And I can end your story at the tip of the iceberg (Chorus) [Viro the Virus] I'm either too trash to dance lickin' acid stamps In a classic max stance wit a trashy tramp (Or) Inhalin' spliffs in Motel 6 With underage runaways takin' black tale flicks (Or) Drinkin' gin wit a harlot Steppin' on peasants pestering me to touch the hymn wit my garment (Or) In the stoop takin' bong hits Morphing my morbid poetry to songs to put 'em on disc Either way I'm not the kid to play My display peals your mascara then leaves your mascaraed in disarray Hung wit fellas who had the map for Zelda Now I hang wit cats wit blunt wraps and paraphernalia Full time failures, plottin' on part time bank tellers To get dough for a crib wit a wine seller Boy, I tell you they don't write 'em like they use to So I hit the stew and cook this up like couscous (Chorus)