I'm crazy baby, looking fly in a brand new button up.
Feel like Jeremy Piven, and the entourage is stepping up.
I got a hold of the goods, rearranged Neal, so now the lean is inside my supper cup.
Smoke cigs, smash ashtrays, kick butts.
Show the who's who the real what's what.
Give anyone who doubts me the finger fuck. Bellwether, Bel-air.
Hot off the press, the fresh print's here.
While you were out, I've been invading TVs.
Getting hot like Kelly Kapowski, Waco in 93.
Davidian Tragedy?
Nah. Just me beating down punks with a branch used for kindling.
The fleeting flocks have suddenly lost their fleece.
Naked cold alone counting down the hours til decease of a radio cancer.
Born groomed romancers-slash-dancers who beat women for some answers.
"Woah! You're on some crack, man."
Let me bring it back in after shots of the Kraken.
After illing with the Sick Chilldren, getting lost out at Bag's End with the Baggins.
I found the one ring, dark power over grammar and structuring all belong to me.
You wanna fuck with me?
You don't even know where to begin.
I'm just doing these tracks to have some good times with my friends.
Not to say that I'm writing without passion.
The fact is, I'm not here to relive the past tense.
I'm passive to aggressive. Stabler for the molested.
A bat to beat the heads of anyone who think they can't be bested.
Bright mind writing rhymes in highlighter.
Fooled my family with this disguise like Mrs. Doubtfire.
Drag the nightmare into the daylight.
I put two favorite tracks into one ace line.
Pay attention and respect.
Hats off before you get raps for running your glass jaw.
Rats start rampaging on the lifeless body that you left behind when you went crying home for your mommy.
You're only looking sloppy as I pull on a white v.
Start getting back into school for a fresh degree.
It's not degrees that keep me fresh, I'm in the red zone.
Live life lucky, leave lovers with no corazon.
My style was born in mosh pits. You can't cop it. Stop it.
I'll leave Impending Doom on all you Lostprophets.
I tried to have patience. It's a process.
I know I'm a honey badger compared to these sloth kids.
Your mic's plugged in, but I hit mute.
Trashed your last tape, Texas doesn't pollute.
So maybe if you're lucky, I'll teach you how to shoot.
I already know I'm major. Y'all are the new recruits.