album cover
Mandarines
282
Hip-Hop/Rap
Mandarines was released on May 3, 2004 by Valley Trash Records as a part of the album Breakfast At Fatboys
album cover
Release DateMay 3, 2004
LabelValley Trash Records
Melodicness
Acousticness
Valence
Danceability
Energy
BPM84

Credits

Lyrics

You rappers are out of order, so I think I oughta
Blow you out the water like submarines
You'll understand if you listen to the lyrics that I'm spittin'
Why my shit keeps hittin' like tambourines
And there will be no excuses, to deny the truth is
We've got more juices than mandarines
Tangerines, and apples put together
Down for whatever, it's the band of your dreams
Fingers, fingers
Fingers, fingers
Fingers, fingers
Fingers
I will inform thee of the story as recorded so far
I'm a walking talking social faux paux, yo
I got no mobile phone and no car
But I'm a psycho on the mic though, just like yo yo ma'
Is on violins, I'm siamese twins
But I'm crammed inside a man with normal limbs
Goddamn, I'm singin' hymns like "La de da de dada"
And I'm still slammin' when I'm jammin' on a guitar
So hand me a cigar, and light the sucker up
Suck my dick or kiss my arse, either way, pucker up
'Cause I get the party started and I reunite the parted
Where as you would clear the room like somebody just farted
Topics are retarded but I keep it light hearted
And take it to the plain that remains uncharted
I got the know how, so follow me now
If ya dare I'm taking you where wallabies, cows and echidnas live
It's part of the trip, I'm not shittin' ya kids
Of all you clowns, wanna be down
I'm doing the rounds for dollars and pounds
You'll be hollerin out ya collagen mouths "Damn, we're not in Hollywood now!"
You rappers are out of order, so I think I oughta
Blow you out the water like submarines
You'll understand if you listen to the lyrics that I'm spittin'
Why my shit keeps hittin' like tambourines
And there will be no excuses, to deny the truth is
We've got more juices than mandarines
Tangerines, and apples put together
Down for whatever, it's the band of your dreams
Fingers, fingers
Fingers, fingers
Fingers, fingers
Fingers
Pick a style, any style, and I bet I show ya how to rock it
Light up ya face like ya cock was in a power socket
And I just shocked it with 240 volts of raw
Electricity and now ya boltin' for the door
Didn't mean to leave ya sore, I'm just hardcore rehearsin'
And well I mean well, hell, I mean I'm well versed man
In the art of kickin it in public
Don't even start off what you've written, it will suck dick
Well I can tell from here, what I'm smellin is fear
So let me spell it out (Don't yell in my ear!)
I'm right here and you're talking shit anyway
And we'll burn yas' to be Ernest like Hemmingway
You say I'm hard to swallow but I'm here to teach a lesson
If ya bite my style I'm a give you indigestion
So let me interject with a suggestion
Want some respect? Use your intellect and speak with introspection
You rappers are out of order, so I think I oughta
Blow you out the water like submarines
You'll understand if you listen to the lyrics that I'm spittin'
Why my shit keeps hittin' like tambourines
And there will be no excuses, to deny the truth is
We've got more juices than mandarines
Tangerines, and apples put together
Down for whatever, it's the band of your dreams
Written by: Evil Eddie
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