Fuck what you heard

Who's the star bar shitter, sickest raw verse spitter

Auctioned off to the highest bidder

Boys turn to a liquor hitter

Girls into wrist slitters

All things considered:

The scribbler on the roof, peddler of the truth,

Acute, astute

Crude preacher in the booth

It's not for you to choose

What the sermon is gonna do to yous

Have you join the Boogaloos

I laboured hard for these crumbs

Set bars for these bums

Go to hard with the bars for these chumps

They succumb to the pressure

Have em lectured and corrected

The recipe perfected

Well let's not forget the bystanders

Dealt a rough hand but by the flop it was outlandish

That bluff was just a gambit

Vanished with the chips on a plane to Paris, scandalous

But I was always dreaming grander

Never pandered to chanters or the slander

What's good for the goose aint necessarily good for the gander

Cannibal animals, Hannibal Lector anecdotes

In a Columbine trenchcoat slit a throat like a cantaloupe

Jot it down, you could note is as another coke- dope-fuelled quote

The doctors thought the kid would be a stillborn

Then he arrived wearing talent for a uniform

Turned out he was just a real calm baby

Probably hard at work already

Busy writing limericks from the uterus

How he got so linguistically gifted

Still somewhat of mystery

But you could just see it in his eye, in his pupil, in his future, somewhere down the line

He is going to write something downright crucial

But the envy, the jealousy, was gruesome

He could smell them from a mile when he was five

He'd grown used to the putrid stench of that vile fusion

It's self evident: they don't have the relevant talent or the elegance, they just have the flair

Self acclaimed critics, dull-brained cynics, frowning at the lyrics