Feast your eyes on this, the incomparable bastard/ Most obnoxious of crackers, bout to stomp on the axis/ Tailored is the name, it's how my moniker lasted/ Black head to toe, death harbinger fashioned/ Fee, Phi, Fo, Fum, bout to conjure some skid marks/ Gather for the show with fire torches and pitchforks/ You cats write your raps like: "The hell I do this for?"/ I spit twisters and toilets, watch it swell to a shit storm/ I see no threat, like blind bitches at truck stops/ Funny like scene kids explaining what's punk rock/ Like a gullible fuck makin' a wife out of a jump off/ Flow crack cunts, you just know that it come raw/ Throw shots at Horus 'till it's pissing the sun off/ Then Heru steps and humbles him with a dumb loss/ Eat him, then burp flames whenever my lungs cough/ Amen-Crock, I'm what you stare at a "one" for/
So...run, run, I real emcee/
No...dumb, dumb, when I speak/
The boogieman's here, it's intelligent white trash/
With shit so fresh, thought it's tinted with lilac/
This the throw down , bitch, the line in the sandbox/ Cause I'ma pour it on 'till the beams in the dam rot/ I define sick, I use the word as my mascot/ Vomit stuffed hammocks, honey basted with crack rock/ Tryna kill Father Time, on the low, cause I obsess/ Mother Earth fronts, pumps brakes when I progress/ "X" him, Fuck her, six feet and it's on brett/ Developed one hell of an Oedipus complex/ I don't wanna stunt, skinny bitches are cunts/ I think club music sucks, most rappers are punks/ I think club music sucks and most rappers are punks/ If R&B's on, it's cause I'm finna to hump/ Some ol' Lena Horne or Donny Hath, I'ma bump/ No cool, high strung, they stew, I come/ Haiku's, they shun, I bruise, they puns/ Butt of the joke, you asshole/ Son I spit, like I pack Skoal/
Came to smoke and kick ass...and I'm down to my lucky/ Scrunchies and jean skirts, son it's gonna get ugly/ Gon take that and bop, like your publishing Puffy's/ Fuck you 'till you cry and you tell me you love me/ (Whoo!) Pause to infinity!/ I'm what made Medusa cold, night I took her virginity/ Herpes to the game, son, you'll never get rid of me/ Pop up, awards night: watch everybody get finicky/ Brian Pillman resurrected, Adderall, & erection/ H.E.R. stripped 'till she's naked, nine inches for skeptics/ Yeah the truth hurts, and I'ma beat 'till she's septic/ 'Till the backlash deafen & they're calling for medics/ Programmers beware, censors ready your button/ Cause this is what happens, giving books to a bumpkin'/ Learns knowledge of self, esteem gets to jumpin'/ And soon he's poppin' shit, like, what's the use of the ruffage?/
