Is this on? (x2)

No shit!

I've been waiting for you to reduce the black experience to a Super Series of fly-by-night catch phrasing
And for every hiccup that I might sight for me to be labeled wide-eyed and trite
As a forest nymph in stretch plating
'Exclamation point apostrophe slash' is what you get when your Modus operandi comes off like a comedy gag
Its like being spoon fed from a colostomy bag of an old crotchety hag
That got all of us hard-numb-palmed and deep fried

You know that!

(x2)
I know you, you know me
I'm from the project blowed family
With a pitch match nasty scratch give a song a home
This unknown band is holding its own

Sorry, underground hip-hop happened ten years ago
Imagine having to say this at the Pan-African theater group bake sale
Its been painted over like a glazed crayon pedicure
And the mantra's been scrambled into this crazed non-sequitur
Sorry, underground hip-hop happened ten years ago
These words stay parenthesized between two reticent moon halves
So go tell them douche bags their white tees look like night gowns
While I loaf under the awning of my moral high ground
Yeah!

No shit!

Y'all got salt water colonics
While my alma mater's polish was hallmark worthy

No shit!

And though my small squad is modest
I'm a cross-journal lobbyist
Here to install thoughts with moral conflicts

Oh!

Still girls do not sing mucho gusto papi
Nor do I get kudos for being a pseudo-commie
Cause I let n***as down like Boutros Boutros-Ghali
Being overboard like a cruise boat volley
Fool, suck my glucose lollie

(x2)
I know you, you know me
I'm from the project blowed family
With a pitch match nasty scratch give a song a home
This unknown band is holding its own