Tackor och bockar:) OK, här är texten: I've got the sick ass flow, better call a proctologist. I make so little sense I should go into politics; tugging heart strings of douchenozzles and college chicks shouldn't be too hard, as it's all just schticks and parlor tricks. Better follow, kids. I'm about to take the lead, with a shiny skillset sharp enough to make you bleed. "That I'd pay to see. Is it make-believe?" Pride goeth before the oops-- guess I'd better rake some leaves. I break the wall, make it fall, like the Hasselhoff I've got the view from a height; #IsaacAsimov Blasting off to the stars like the IGOR. I know you Edna Krabappel rappers all wanna see more. I'm hiding C4 under C-4, Blowing up your fingers in the middle of your little MIDI keyboard. It won't matter, could have said it in a worse way, but you'll just be happy I remembered your birthday. Have you heard this kind of rap before? It isn't new. In fact, this is the kinda rap I used to listen to. Call me old-fashioned, but comparing this to you-- Frankly I'm embarrassed to tell people what it is I do. Seven shorties come to your show but you can't even flow right Snow White falls asleep, and you call it a slow night. You see one person move, and you think that you're so tight, but take a closer look and switch off your strobe light. Ain't that a shame of epic proportions? That's not a dance, it's epileptic contortions. On the mic, you ain't spreading endorphins. You can't compete with electromagnetic distortions. Wow, this guy, what an eccentric performance, y'know, apart from how it's made of uninventive conformance and leaves you empty inside like annorexic abortions or the actual size of macho rappers' sexual organs. Go have sex with the gorgons, then tell me you're hardcore. You say you're real, but I can smell the cardboard. Your mind's a cat flap that thinks it's a barn door, while I make the phat rap there should be an award for. Have you heard this kind of rap before? It isn't new. In fact, this is the kinda rap I used to listen to. Call me old-fashioned, but comparing this to you-- Frankly I'm embarrassed to tell people what it is I do. Hip hop's not dead, but she ain't aging with grace, barely recognizable with those changes made to her face. Her eyes are empty, her brain a vacant space, and what once was warm is thanks to you a glacial embrace. I don't like to brag, but I'm a rapper, so it's mandatory. Y'all seem to think the central goal is to be irritating When I rock the mic, I redefine the category. when you rock the mic, Satan's figure skating. Have you heard this kind of rap before? It isn't new. In fact, this is the kinda rap I used to listen to. Call me old-fashioned, but comparing this to you-- Frankly I'm embarrassed to tell people what it is I do.
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