[Intro: Mach-Hommy]
Yo, you ready?
Aight, go

[Verse: Your Old Droog]
Prefer to kick back, count stacks
Eat Count Chocula in my pajamas
Can't slap a deadline on something that's timeless
Next year, opening for Primus
You'll be done talking out the side of your mouth
Like Don Imus, like what you thought I was doing before
I dropped that eponymous, and man I kinda miss being anonymous
There's more to it than rap, you have to be some sort of
Politician, social worker, slash economist
I ain't fond of this rigamarole
And there's no need to dig him a hole (did it yourself, stupid)
Hit the scene like a big comet
But I felt like Howard Stern dealing with Pig Vomit
No wonderama shit with me and my conglomerate
Now fuck with me, get ya momma hit
It's way too safe in this climate
Catch him while he brunching and punch him in his face
Knock over his kale omelette
And that cute little salad with balsamic
Put him in the fiend like a needle, fuck a heimlich
Just might catch a wedgie, that's atomic
We bombing on em like standup comics
At the Cellar, soon-to-be bestsellers, storyteller
Y'all cats is Uri Geller
Go to court, prosecutors, kid just play your acapella
With that pen you- what?
Get the fuck out my face
Y'heard

[Outro: Mach-Hommy + Your Old Droog]
Yo
What's good?
Shit sound a'ight?
That shit buurtiful, n***a—y'heard?
You know what I mean, we just gon' use that as is
Ooh, yo, my grandma bump this shit, bro—deadass