(Boom!)

Shut the fuck up

Shut your mouth and shut up

1 Trait's back, so it's time to get the fuck up

(Boom!)

What's the fuck's up

'Bardi 'bout to come up

Baseball bat, yeah he gonna fuck my knees up

Where the tracks at?

Where's my money bro?

I got my axe back

I'm 'bout to kill you, yo

Chop, chop, chop down both your knees like some trees while you're screamin' "Lombardi, please!"

(-Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please

Lombardi please

-Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please

Where the tracks at?

Where's my money bro?

Indie rock is dead, but I'm not

But I'm not

Bu-Bu-But I'm not

But I'm not...)

Write the songs, how hard could it be?

Write the music, this shit ain't easy

Write the songs (How hard could it be?)

I gotta write the songs (Write the songs)

Can't think of shit, I dunno how to write

I used this joke on the last album, right?

I'm no Shakespeare, no Vonnegut

I don't even know what a sonnet is

Welcome to the slaughterhouse

You can't even hide at your daughter's house

You signed the contract with your blood

They suck the rest if you give 'em a dud

If you don't make him the fuckin' stacks

With sufficient raps, with ten platinum tracks

He's gonna come to your house with a baseball bat

And break both of your motherfuckin' legs in half

So you pray to the Lord to forgive your sins

So you pray to the Lord to forgive your sins...

(Come on!)

(One two three, motherfucker)