A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Das Racist

"Werner Herzog"

[Verse 1: Busdriver]
How could you call yourself the best rapper
You in a cover band that’s playing Sledgehammer
In your cupped hands is pet hamster
Your genitals are sitting on wet pampers
Holdup while I test this red snapper
Militant like a pledged Panther
I hunt big name n*gga, I collect antlers
And you got b*tch problems, breast cancer
Hellfyre Club we the wrong set to slander
We’ll make you eat a crepe filled with Chia pet dander
And I always stay on the set with cameras
I go Herzog, n*gga you dead like Dirt Dog
All you movie-making lames in the booty-shaking vein
On the moving gravy train are left in excruciating pain
Because I’m in the house, you be like “which house?”
I make Witch-House up at your b*tch’s house
Wearing nothing but a Speedo and a pig snout
Y’all must have pricks and ovums
Jocking me like I’m Chris Nolan
My scathing critique of your sh*t leaves your script molten
Because you want to drive porches through the Waterloos
Have a home like the Fortress of Solitude
So on-set to snort sh*t through a hollow tube
But at the end you’re just gorgeous piranha food

[Verse 2: Open Mike Eagle]
He's Herzog, I'm P.T. Anderson
At your premiere I snuck 3-D cameras in
I bootlegged your sh*t for the downtrodden
Cause you got your film degree at a clown college
You use brown polish, like a white racist
And shoot titles in Sans Serif typefaces
Take ten paces, and yell "Fire!"
I nail you to a big board like Mel Kiper
No secret, I'll tell you why I smell wiser
I got a bunch of girls pregnant cause I sell diapers
And I'm a god-damned genius
The Marc Maron a dark-skinned art baron
Smart like lucky kids who get born to smart parents
Who feed them locally-grown farmer's market cart carrots
I eat fair trade cheese and fart fairness

[Hook]
I...go...Werner...Herzog
I...go...Werner...Herzog
I...go...Herzog
Which means I get large spread art cred smart heads are fed

[Verse 3: Nocando]
Skip the introduction, buddy I'm not mingling
Hoes on my di*k cause I look like John Singleton
Cut like Tarantino with his big-ass machete
Once I read my notebook, word to Nick Cassavetes
Twelve frames, half a second, Clockwork, Stanley Kubrick
A rap session I'll put my nose in, I can't be Buddhist
I learned my lesson, I'm really a savvy student
But dark like Tim Burton, and look fit like a thin person
But I'm just a happy human
Before I see a stupid rom-com with a nice chick
I might get, the right grip, to set up a light rig
Attach a GoPro to the po-po's nightstick
And assault him with an icepick -- and ask him how he likes it
Excuse me -- unhhh -- my swag sharted
I feel like Shaft with a shag on shag carpet
These rappers aren't factors they're actors with no SAG cards in
They think they're the truth but they that gossip rag garbage
Written sh*t or freestyle, homie I'm that murderous
Remember me? I used to enter them rap tournaments
Breaking n*ggas' spirits like a bag full of glass ornaments
Well b*tch it's time to eat now, show me where craft service is
Thinking out loud like an introspective extrovert
If I play the background I'm directing, not that extra work
Bust that 16 but I decided to put in extra work
To make them strippers drop it super mega-low and extra twerk
Rappers say they don't hate, but most of 'em do
I feed off it like Vigo in Ghostbusters 2
I can roll up your crew, or throat-f*ck your boo
Whatever transpires is so up to you
Lights Camera Action
The whip is fully covered so I might have to crash it
Getting southpaw HJ's from a right-handed ratchet
The airbag deploys
The credits start to roll
How anti-climactic
...
Hellfyre

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #
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