[Verse: MC Paul Barman + MF DOOM]
I'm old school
This mic is my ProTool
I'm three apples high
I live in a toadstool like a smurf
Everyone at birth is given x-ray specs
But they under-use them to undress the opposite sex
Let's get this rap cash
'Cause art right now is on some slap-dash, flapjack-crap trash
Leave me here
Okay—pass me your wallet, I'll send help
Mmm—now who drank the last brew?
They turned off my cell again
The bill was way past due
Gosh, tell a friend
But don't let 'em gas you
It's all just hogwash
Now back to the castle
When I'm home the seeds throw darts at the throne
No tart taste to the ho cakes
And first place
In the go-cart race goes to—
No brakes! Teach peace to the babies
We're all the same
At least for the ho's sake
Stepped on an undisclosed rake
Catch a nose-ache...
Y'all flows is fake
Yodle-eh-hee-who wants to be my protege?
So parrot-back it
I'm an underlined caret bracket
Greater than or equal to
But greater than four stars
Greater than straight-A report cards
Greater than poor sports in divorce courts or sports bars
What's your mission?
Shaking blunders in this self (inaudible) taking on fun-filled until—
It ain't all about the dollar bill
You could be dead broke and be a scholar still
What question should I ask you?
Uh—"What type of ill-type of tricks do the mask do?"
Okay; what type of ill-type of ill tricks do the mask do?
The face plate remove and I give chicks tattoos
But then they can see your face!
I make 'em look the other way
I almost caught a case off that same sh*t the other day
In Grady's truck is where I first got lucky
In the 80s, now I make the ladies say, "Yucky!" like Sandy
Bollocks, that old mustache is bull-snot
On your bald spot
Now that's what I call hot!
[Produced by Prince Paul]