Swinging high and low - Masta Junkie is a ho'

Well well well if it ain't ol' Masta, humming & strumming like an old Stratocasta', I prefer Gibson cuz it's a real guitar, not a piece of shit for old drunken stars, speaking of drunken, Masta how low have you sunken? I saw you sleeping in a trunk 'n', smelling like an unwashed cunt man, wow the stench the horror the horror, maybe I should just call you a whore or, a drunken bastard without rhyming skills, even if you worked you couldn't afford your bills, fucked up on alcohol and viagra pills, roaming the streets like a hobo junkie, why you even attempt to fight me? hey dude bite me! I take your lame ass words turn 'em into laughter, you're not dealing with your shadow your dealing with the master, the Tricktser, bitch fixer, El Trickerino, while you're more like Steve-O, prancing around and hurting yourself, nowhere near as funny as Ferrell in Elf, speaking of Christmas you're more like the Grinch, when people see you they step back and flinch, compared to you Freddy Krueger is handsome, you're as ugly as shit and then some, you can't even pay to get sex, a whore who sees you just gets depressed, she commits suicide rather then fucking you, still you keep eating Viagra 'til your dick is blue, hoping that one day some miracle will happen, but no girl will ever put her cunt near your lap man, even when you download some porn, the actors start laughing adding some scorn, you've never been kissed, won't put the "missed" in dismissed, never ever feel bliss, just some shit and some piss, your hand won't cooperate when you jerk your own cock, you're the sorriest piece of shit on the entire block, the laughing stock, kicked down by Birkenstocks, your parents changed the lock, the time stops when you look at a clock, just an asshole to scorn and to mock, everybody threw the first rock, time's running out tick tick tock, so here's the question: "What up, doc?", your entire mouth's full of socks, not a word comes out in your defense, and if it does it doesn't make sense, the doctor's called from the loony bin, they want you back to lock you in, Hannibal Lecter missed your company, crying at night: "Where's Masta Junkie?", he's here mr Lecter he's...naw forget it, I sorta feel sorry for that piece of shit, he's brainless and useless a piece of crap, he stinks so much he stunk up my rap, gotta go get cleansed from his terrible odour, see ya at MTV next to Kurt Loder.