Sing It, Shitface

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