[Intro]
If this one doesn't scare you, you're already dead

[Hook x2]
Y'all my students, consider this your syllabus
And if you've got a bone to pick
Y'all better throw some hands like pugilists

(For the glory)

[Verse]
I cannot be defeated by mere mortal rapper faces
Come back when you have a legion of Chuck D and Master Aces
Sagging pants from a family tree of hip hop's master races
I'm prone to laugh in faces of old men who can't act their ages
Who inbred all these cats of BET Punnett squares?
I shouldn't have said that but I'm having far too much fun to care
These cats had the gonad sacks to ask "what's a Milo?"
I told them to tread their tracks, turn back and check their vitals
I'm the evil genius behind the large penis of American Idol
Often I close my eyes and cover my glasses when I rap in public
Rory's the boss man and Milo's simply a rapping puppet
Started off trying to impress girls with rhyming couplets
Now I father other dudes' styles by the quintuplets
I'm like my beats, stream-like and rather hazy
Your use of truncated metaphors makes you seem lazy
I guess I'll have to spell it out
You can enjoy an extended staring match with my brown eye
And there's a reason my sound guy resembles Bill Nye
I just wanna settle down with a pretty classically-trained cellist
Pop the inflated balloon chest of the overly zealous
They call me L. Ron Hubbard, I'm your idiot vagabond brother
Got a job at a pizza shop so excuse these ashy knuckles
Spare time write the plot for my opus film "Nasty Cuckolds"
Signifying rappers by their flashy-ass belt buckles
I've still got those check-engine-light struggles
[Hook]