[Intro: Advisor]
Okay, listen up, fuckwads: everyone gather your skateboards, your spray cans, all the backpacks, the jewelry, the microphones, the 4-tracks, the mixers, the shell toes, the bottled water, the MPCs and the EPSs, all your gear, the 1200s, the coffee grounds, the cellphones and the pagers, all your Kangols and all the writing utensils, and we're just gonna have one big motherfucking bonfire, you know what I'm saying? It's just gonna be one big motherfucking bonfire, it's like a party. You know, we're gonna dance around at that shit, bonfire

[Verse 1: Advisor]
It's like Gerber Baby fluid on the brain, these jerks is stupid
You know the types, they're so hip hop, they even got the t-shirt to prove it
Rework your movements, call it something else
Leave it on the shelf and keep to yourself
Image is really all that matters and yo, it ain't the rappers
It's the motherfucking masses, ashes to ashes
Get your backward asses over here so I can show you fear
Now are we clear? (Yeah, we're clear!) But yo, we're nowhere near
Where we need to get so I'ma lose the dead weight
My next place of yesterday and the sweat stains on every page
I'ma set the stage, prepare it with twigs and sticks
My former self and all the cliche characteristics
No longer wearing a backpack cuz it's inconvenient
I carry a box around and I keep my CDs in
You like my t-shirt? My friend just learned how to screen print
I'm living every minute like a scene from a flick
Cuz you never know who's watching, dissecting me
Bare necessity, find your heart and glue it on
And headphones aren't a fashion accessory
It's just part of the uniform, it's getting warm!

[Hook x8: Advisor]
Burn, baby, burn!
[Verse 2: Eyedea]
I will rip and pick apart artists
Til realizes he belongs in the dark ditches
Skilled rap is high as his heart is
He might still feel as dope as he did when he first started
As a kid retarded from overexposure of polluted rap city music
Tell a pigeon to crap videos on my ever so wounded soul
Lose control of your contract and crash into my fireplace
You tired snake, disintegrate to ashes
And penetrate the masses from the trash, tricked and quick, fast
Pour gas on your record collection, Crescent's got a match quipped
For this special occasion, you're taking the essence and making amazingly wack shit
Bastard rappers, gold or platinum, they know what's happening
Hold em backwards over compactors
Recycle they asses and pass em back faster
Than you can say the famous words: "Keep it real"
Let me fuck your ego so I can see how cheap it feels!
Either far left or far right, they're both worthless
Deep underground or high above the surface
I try to fight the nausea when your tape's on play
But I can't, goddamn my man, I feel like throwing that shit away!

[Hook: Eyedea and Crescent Moon]
Throw it away, throw it away, throw it away now
Throw it away, throw it away, throw it away now
Burn, baby, burn! Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn! Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby!
[Verse 3: Crescent Moon]
If you lack credibility, charge it to the game
Take empty flow at all, introduce em to the flame
Too many ashy remains, now the fire pit's filled
So on the count of three, everybody fire at will!
Hold down that biter, help me rip out his mandibles
Toss him in the heat, I know that Chinese is flammable
It's understandable; drink money, earn liquor
Hope it got cash in its pocket so I can watch it burn quicker
Look at his carcass smell as it go through different stages
Throwing on the pimp on the barbie, now that's entertainment
Damn tired of vampires, throw em on the campfire
Anyone else jiggy with it? Come on, raise your hand higher
I'm bored with more gold diggers galore
What you acting for? Anyone else up for s'mores?
So gather up the greed, poison seeds to make you bleed
Instead of turning a cheek and surround em in burning degrees
MCs get crushed, spontaneously combust
Cinders turn to ashes, ashes turn to dust
Burn, smoke, fry, fuck
As the structure burn down, lyricists rise up!