* send corrections to the typist

Din effects, spiracle asshole, taking shitty Mc tongues to the frozen flagpole
I farted family functions, landing punches in the face of life
I paid the grand three hundred for my beat machine, my body

I keep it clean, by eating vegetables, while you claim indestructible
I made 'em feel uncomfortable by talking about my hemroids
And now my parakeet's unemployed, I enjoyed watching old men
put pens oil all inside the engines, while eating cookies kept in tin foil
I been spoiled, like an underwear that's been soiled by my opponents
When I assemble my microphone kit, most kids are mere domeless
I wonder what they folks did to make 'em think they flow swift with broken focus
Vocals??? are sung, while my guitar is strung, and inplugged to make the hip hop
Pure it's cents up, sure it's ten bucks to come and see me at a show
But when I stage dive into jello you won't care about the dough
But if you still think my shit is wack, you'll get you're money back
And then you leave the show, running into two men with funny hats
They'll beat the fuck out of you and take your wallet out of your back pocket
After that you swell up in the high sockets, then I'll finish my show and go to
The parking lot to meet the two men, who then put your loot in my pocket
I try jocking myself but that didn't work, after I realised that God was
watching with a hidden smirk, I shit a turd that stunk the house for three weekends
Instead of RnB bitches, I do my hooks with Japanese kids

(Chorus: Japanese Kid Singing)

So Sing it Shitface

Ooh, I love farting in the bathtub, at clubs, at home
On the road, in your face unload, in your eyeball
Fart while walking on the sidewalk, after nightfall
To the point you spray lights all, despite all the things
That the people might say, I grab my genitals and tell'em have a nice day
The right way, to grab a mic is constantly exhibiting
If I mean, then the MC knows he's unlimited, it's intimate
like water splashing on the coast lines
where I go to town meetings
And on the bulletin board I post rhymes, most times
don't give a fuck about what you telling me
I get excited and crash your third grade spelling bee
and just as a girl named Bethany is about to win my spelling cheese
I interrupt the train of thought by yelling freeze
And when she sees that I'm nothing but a prankster
she tells the teacher, but I proceed to go
And yank her for her title, of third grade vocabulary champion
she starts to cry, I say : that's what you get for tampering
with the wordsmith, with the verb gift
The principal got nervous, when I ran into his office shirtless
what's the purpose of terrorising elementary schools?
I don't know, but I penetrate your brain with entry tools
Narratives from the battletongue
my record collection consists of twenty-two copies of Aqualung
atheling is what I need to rock a venue
I then do some percolating shit on the wheels to cold end you
got the versatility of ten dudes, next stop my little shitface friend
Serves a chorus up from the menu

So Sing it shitface

(chorus: Japanese Kid Singing)