Whose Ball Bearings Need Greasin'? Songtext

These damn sounds are for the druglords in the catacombs. In the summer we get hummers. In the springtime we get hard pine. Oh that goddamn filler sweet microphone killa. Deacon Doug, a bloke of the Vatican, proceeds. Excuse me while I drop and act like a fool with the pimps in the U-Haul trailers. Poisons. Born in the core of a molten strip club that spit Sir-Mix-A-lot's Lava Sutra. Where's that Killa Margarita?