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Braggin’ Maggin Be the Flyest Cutie in the Booty Wagon

October 23, 2009

Complementary to the diss track, in which the rapper builds herself up by putting others down, is the brag track, in which the rapper builds herself up by building herself up. An example follows.

Turn the bass up, ears be tinglin’ when it’s louder.
I’m smoother than New England clam chowder.
I’m cuter than H. Kitty. I’m ruder than P. Diddy.
I’m the baddest muthafucka in this whole damn city.
I’m famous, I’m heinous,
My flow is tighter than an anus.
Other rappers are the lamest; their tracks are feces.
Even my Master’s theses are masterpieces,
And when my albums hit the charts they rise up faster than Jesus.

I got more riches than any of you bitches,
A bigger clothing inventory than Abercrombie & Fitch’s.
My closet’s bigger than a house. My house is bigger than a town.
My town is bigger than the United States. Suck on that, clown.
My dog is bigger than a car. My ukulele’s bigger than a guitar.
I’m dressed head to toe in gold, you don’t believe what you’re a-seein’.
You high on Indo? That’s old. I’m high on Indo-European,
And you’re a-peein’ your pants when you encounter my flow.
Do “rule” and “reckless” share a root? You prob’ly don’t even know.
I rule recklessly, I fuck fecklessly,
You rhyme effectlessly, I kick you in the dick stresslessly.

Did I mention my Lambo?
It kicks more ass than Rambo.
I drive 200 miles per second through playground zones in the afternoon.
Get out the way, baby ma’fuckas! Zoom zoom zoom.
And no worries, mates, every night I got a million dates.
I’m hotter than the sun, I’m a nuclear furnace of sex.
I got your daughter and your son in the back seat of my Lex.
(That’s my other car. I got more than one, I’m a superstar.)
And I ain’t fuckin’ for free, best believe they all be payin’.
When it comes to layin’, I ain’t playin’, homie, know what I’m sayin’?
Playas be payin’ top dolla for this honey cunny,
So much money it ain’t even funny, buddy.
I’m so popular I got no choice, I gotta be a whore at this.
I gotta rent out every orifice, otherwise there’d be a war for this.
Too many shorties clamourin’ for a hammerin’,
Too many gangstas pleadin’ they be needin’ my enamourin’.

I finish off my partners, now I’ll finish off this track.
But even though I’m terminatin’, bitch, you know I’ll be back.

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