mr. master – no more purple dinosaur lyrics
[prod. by mr. master]
[intro: the three stooges]
this old man
he played three
[verse: mr. master]
the word of the day is ouroboros
i like my carbons chlorofluoro
and my away team scoreless
levitation through diabolical satanist forces
a.k.a. a dude operating a forklift
believe none of what you see
and all of what i say
gaslighting isn’t real, it’s fake!
you mean to tell me some psych major life waster’s
gonna read my palm and fairytale away
the memories i have of vietnam? come on
can’t huck a huckster, bucko. touch me and it’s dunzo
welcome to the opposite of the gun show
i run routes. to leave an upstart down and out
is standard operating procedure
for the world’s pickiest talent scout
psychomimicry
i know rappers making bank
doing my flow sh-ttily over shiloh dynasty
cute but no cuban
squared took his hubris and cubed it
now my headroom’s at max. can’t let anyone new in
i knew it! another mephistopheles roflin’ at me
awfully sweet but scoff. too busy fulfillin’ the profligacy
rather be gathering blather, but alas i’m the catalyst
three pokos left until i manifetht roko’th bathilithk
telltale sign that your cash cow’s dyin’
so many branches on the dialogue tree, so little time
(duh, i don’t write my raps.)
have you considered tryin’?
i know how much you hate effort
but what have you got to lose? your ninth of a mind?
been gettin’ comfy
need to take this american exceptionalism
to a third world country, spit roast a pig
and throw a luau with the peace prize money
please, as if y’all didn’t get enough from my freerice studying
doesn’t the hardest difficulty give y’all three times the funding?
smash cut to a hard dutch extreme close up
cavities triggering trypophobia
this rollercoaster car ain’t big enough
for the both of us to get home
hotel room walls so thin
neighbors can hear the beat bleed through my headphones
at&t and t-mobile girls three way called me like
“we’re tryna find a fourth. how bout the wendy’s girl?”
i said, “sure, if she brings us frosties.”
schrodinger’s scrunch. is it a screw or a stankface?
depends on the before meal and the aftertaste
skull full o’ whullops. ult full o’ wheel ups. set
still an independent firm with no merch and no meet ups. yet
category seven gust for those on the fence
cries of “too far, too soon” repurposed as compliments
twisted fallacious logic masquerading as common sense
at my own comic expense
don’t make me paint you by the numbers
this is all that you’ll get
i only prod because the chap on the clapham omnibus
said it was obvious and to not would be following a law unjust
wait, aren’t i that one guy with the hammer?
no, that’s gallagher
i’m like him but funnier and handsomer
a star has been born but shallower
do a challenger salinger
my bin full o’ balled up bad ideas
got jacked by a time traveler
this furby’s heard my trade secrets!
knock knock, nsa needs it!
hyperreality bites
i’ve been writin’ fever dreams through sleepless nights
since back when i wanted a girlfriend who looked like lights
bright orange color m-n-scripts make you genuflect
field trip through minnesota bumpin heiruspecs
doublemint twins added to the ad woman harem s-x
lipstick left on my inner leg
in the future, everybody will rap like kool keith
[outro: mr. master]
this one is a special dedication to all of you out there
that can scratch, that can produce
and that can rock the m-i-c
cause that’s me doin the cuts in the background
the beat i put togtether, you know
big up to the three stooges one time
and then then, you know, the rhymes i’m doin
i got it all, the complete package
you can’t f-ck with that at all
all you people out there that can just rhyme, you wanna battle?
we need to take it to the triathlon
you need to shut up and bring all that sh-t to the table
i’ll take you out one by one, yo
and i’m out!
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