[Intro]
Nah, nah, just a verse
I didn't wanna do it
Y'all just can't let this shit go, you can't let it go
I thought we was cool
Listen
[Verse 1]
You can find me in the club where the huns at
Motherfuck that trucker hat hug rap
I know who I am, who I be, who I always was
Not a rapper that would diss another just to start a buzz
You should know that; just let the beef go away
How many weathermen do I have to slay?
El-P, give that mouth a rest
Go and get yourself in shape, give that couch a rest
I sent you a demo in '94 with straight original shit
No scientifical shit
And you cats talk about it like it's still in your whip
If you large as you say, why you still sweatin' Shay?
Pissed 'cause I reminisce about boom-bap?
You just mad 'cause you make your money off nerd rap
And can never change that - the fact you make soft shit Embarrassed, so you gotta remind us about the profit
Sorry that I studied from the blueprint
And don't associate with your nerd rap movement
"Independently, I sold—" man, get over yourself
Every interview I read, it's like you're blowin' yourself
Putting dough on your shelf? Stop hoein' yourself
You're a herb; look at you, you know it yourself
I showed you love from day one and I kept on
But now you upset because your boys got stepped on
If you were smart as you claim to be
And had beef, motherfucker, you should've came to me
But no - write a diss, hope you won't get caught
'Cause you know I never peep shit from Gaysop Rock
Listen: I liked Funcrusher, that was that
But then you heard Dr. Octagon and never looked back
Blue flowers allow me to flex my true powers
And send this fuckin' hobbit back to the two towers
No, I'm not stoppin' yet
Bars of Death ain't done, it ain't droppin' yet
I got jokes about your face, believe me
But dissin' you because of your looks is too easy
You can't help that you a Keebler Elf, Mr. Be Yourself
You should see yourself
I saw that DVD, man, I can't understand
Why you find it so hard to shake a fan's hand
These are the cats that love you when you do shit
And actually think the stuff you make is music
But this is hip-hop, kid, don't confuse it
With nerds trying too hard to make that new shit
Bitching about doing a show for short change is fine
But taping it is asinine
Then releasing it? That's an ego trip
Get off your own dick, that's some ego shit (Fuck outta here) Revolution ain't them beats you record
Soundin' like my girl's cat when it walks across my keyboard
You ain't different, you just can't work your equipment
Now don't come back with that run-on sentence rap
Spit it slow, so I can understand you, yo
Went from Co' Flow to no flow, rushin' your rhymes
No punchlines, just a bunch of punched-in lines
Bed-wetter, you as hip-hop as Eddie Vedder
If you a true b-boy, explain that mohawk and the Fred Perry sweater
That look is priceless!
Who's the motherfucker with the identity crisis?
[Interlude]
Huh?
You got beef? Say my name, dog
You know what I'm sayin'? Don't gotta—
Ain't no need for secrets, ain't gotta be sleazy about shit
You know what I'm sayin'?
Your man— your Boston MC told me the deal
You ain't mad at me, dog, you mad at what you've become
Yo, hold up, man
[Verse 2]
Banned from New York? Motherfucker, don't sleep
I got a freak in each borough, I was there last week
You cancellin' shows in Boston, actin' shook
Say you from Harlem, tellin' me to come to Red Hook
You wanna rep Brooklyn? Ain't no Biggie in you
Fat sloppy fuck, sound like Winnie the Pooh
Plus, dwellin' on this beef is a bad decision
The only fight you ever had's with your own metabolism
Making them mixtapes, mainstream cover band
Wanna be G-Unit but sold like 3 units? Damn
Baby Huey talk like he had a stroke
I remember when he told me "Be Alert" was so dope
You was a fan, home, soakin' the bed
See, when I was eating rappers you was eating loaves of bread
A big oaf with dreads and a clammy handshake
Now you makin' records that even your fans hate
I'll treat you like a Tauntaun and slash your flesh
And give New York's homeless a place to rest
It ain't about The Weathermen, it's whether or not you're men
Whether or not you're femme; Vast, drop and give me ten
Know your limits, Grimace, you can't finish
All out of shape, fishin' for beef, but out of bait
Sherman Klump's in a writing slump, no lie
Nutty Professor, minus the sweater and bow tie
Come take my lotto? Man, that's a waste
With that tape, all you really robbin' is your fan base
You be claimin' you a man but got big saggy tits
Coppin' all your sweaters from a store for fat chicks
"If this was '86—" man, if this was '86
You'd be sittin' in baby shit, cryin' for some cake and shit
"Vast is deep!" You kids don't understand
Anyone can sound deep to an overzealous fan
So protect that neck, Shrek, before I strike again
You and El-P Lenny and George from Mice & Men
This shit is gettin' old, but the beef is fun
It's like five on one, I got you fuckers on the run
Now get your facts straight, stop runnin' your mouths
I keep this mic with me, dog, come and get me
[Outro Skit: Samples]
Mom packs a lunch and we're off to school
They call us nerds, 'cause we're so uncool
They laugh at our clothes, they laugh at our hair
The girls walk by with their nose in the air
Obsession Entertainment in association with Definitely Such records bring to you: Revenge of the Nerds!
Fuck you and your Transformers soundtrack
Fuck Esoteric—
Fuck Esoteric—
A limited edition 38-track tribute album to 7L & Esoteric!
You seen the sweat on his face, Ess-hole
I know you ain't sweat like that since you sent El-P a demo
Featuring progressive emcees like: E.L.P!
My favorite ones are the ones who started out young
Rappin' 'bout comic books, spaceships and [?]
Crazy emcees like: Cage!
You speak real words, but can't finesse this shit
And Rebel I.N.S. would not care to inspect this dick
Internet emcees like: The Flavor Bitch!
A baby swings and his asshole will blink
Tell this wack fool Eso the pterodactyl's extinct
Vast!
You a emcee? You wanna see me?
Your optics gotta be 20/20
That's right! You are gonna need 20/20 vision to contend with lyrics like:
They say God made dirt (Dirt)
And dirt don't hurt (Hurt)
But I still gotta take a bath
Holler at your boy!
Never before has such dickriding, cocksucking and sword-swallowing been captured on one CD!
—I was high, but you was the one who got smoked, just embarrassed
I can hit seven Ls and still smoke Esoteric
(sex noises)
"Uh, Rob, are you okay in there?"
I'm sorry fellas, I was just fuckin' Copywrite's girlfriend! That was a mouthful! (Hold up)
And if you act now, you get Weathermen Sing The Hits! A bonus disc featuring rump-shakers like:
[?]
God damn, that's funky! And the party doesn't stop there!
[?]
Who are you kiddin', fatso?
So get yours today while supplies last. It's music to shit your pants to!
(laughter)
