M.C. Iggy back on the mic — so, you know, yo. Or something.

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Yo, cone of shame sucka, chewing on your stitches

M.C. Iggy’s in the waiting room sniffing all your bitchez —

Iggy, what’s going on?

“I got gold bling! And I got shot!”

Okay, whoa, hang on there, pup. You didn’t get shot, you got your shots. And that’s just an orange rabies vaccination tag.

“I’m gangsta!”

You’re schnauza.

“Gangsta!”

You sure?

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“What! It took two of ’em to hold me back! I’m gangsta!”

Okay, Iggy, you’re gangsta.

Thank you.”

Do you want your Shamrock McSqueakybear now?

“Yes, please.”

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Good boy.

“Gangsta.”

Okay.

M.C. Iggy on the mic!

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Gettin’ squeak toys in my mouth, I ain’t gonna let go

Make my human spend her money on me at the Petco

All the bitches play bow when I wag my tail

Pretty perfumed poodle playthings and they’re all for sale

All the ladies in the joint, let me hear you holla

M.C. Iggy in the hizzouse with the bling-bling collar!

What are you doing, Iggy?

“Rockin’ the mic! I got diamond bling!”

It’s not diamond bling, Iggy. It’s just a new ID tag with an updated phone number. And why are you piling up your squeak toys in your crate?

“Pimping my crib!”

Well, all right then —

“I’m doggy-stylin’!”

Okay, you don’t have any idea what you’re saying, do you?

“Not really, no.”
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UPDATE: I changed the title of this post; it used to be “Song of the Schnauzer.” See the comments for an explanation.