crocker – i emcee lyrics
feast your eyes on this, the incomparable b-st-rd/ most obnoxious of crackers, bout to stomp on the axis/ tailored is the name, it’s how my moniker lasted/ black head to toe, death harbinger fashioned/ fee, phi, fo, fum, bout to conjure some skid marks/ gather for the show with fire torches and pitchforks/ you cats write your raps like: “the h-ll i do this for?”/ i spit twisters and toilets, watch it swell to a sh-t storm/ i see no threat, like blind b-tches at truck stops/ funny like scene kids explaining what’s punk rock/ like a gullible f-ck makin’ a wife out of a jump off/ flow crack c-nts, you just know that it come raw/ throw shots at horus ’till it’s p-ssing the sun off/ then heru steps and humbles him with a dumb loss/ eat him, then burp flames whenever my lungs cough/ amen-crock, i’m what you stare at a “one” for/
so…run, run, i real emcee/
no…dumb, dumb, when i speak/
the boogieman’s here, it’s intelligent white trash/
with sh-t so fresh, thought it’s tinted with lilac/
this the throw down , b-tch, the line in the sandbox/ cause i’ma pour it on ’till the beams in the dam rot/ i define sick, i use the word as my mascot/ vomit stuffed hammocks, honey basted with crack rock/ tryna k!ll father time, on the low, cause i obsess/ mother earth fronts, pumps brakes when i progress/ “x” him, f-ck her, six feet and it’s on brett/ developed one h-ll of an oedipus complex/ i don’t wanna stunt, skinny b-tches are c-nts/ i think club music sucks, most rappers are punks/ i think club music sucks and most rappers are punks/ if r&b’s on, it’s cause i’m finna to hump/ some ol’ lena h-rne or donny hath, i’ma bump/ no cool, high strung, they stew, i come/ haiku’s, they shun, i bruise, they puns/ b-tt of the joke, you -ssh0l-/ son i spit, like i pack skoal/
came to smoke and kick -ss…and i’m down to my lucky/ scrunchies and jean skirts, son it’s gonna get ugly/ gon take that and bop, like your publishing puffy’s/ f-ck you ’till you cry and you tell me you love me/ (whoo!) pause to infinity!/ i’m what made medusa cold, night i took her virginity/ herpes to the game, son, you’ll never get rid of me/ pop up, awards night: watch everybody get finicky/ brian pillman resurrected, adderall, & erection/ h.e.r. stripped ’till she’s naked, nine inches for skeptics/ yeah the truth hurts, and i’ma beat ’till she’s septic/ ’till the backlash deafen & they’re calling for medics/ programmers beware, censors ready your b-tton/ cause this is what happens, giving books to a bumpkin’/ learns knowledge of self, esteem gets to jumpin’/ and soon he’s poppin’ sh-t, like, what’s the use of the ruff-ge?/
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