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the o [bklyn] - anal thermometer lyrics

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i be the g and the plan is to slam, d+mn
that i can, biff bam, batman, robin steady mobbin’ c’mon
g be the man, slammin, you say psalms with your moms
and you home playing backgammon

mom left me dressed up, but messed up
with my hair combed nicely, but i was shiesty
at any given time there might be liquor in my ice tea
always yelling in my ear “drugorious, play nicely”

now i’m on the mic see, my mental style wild child
to the file i’ll spit the vile in the pile
that’ll make the girls smile, make a german “sieg heil”
unlike spark lyle, i’ll be here for a while

people want to know yo, how’d you get so loco
head want to know who to thank for my flow, son
i’m saying “oh, can’t be quite sure”
link with my shrink ’cause i think she know who knows

hey mom (yes, dear)
thanks for the +n+l thermometer

i be the illest, microphone ventriloquist
brothers say he real with this
got the the feel for this (yeah, yeah)
use to have a drug problem thinking
how am i going to pay for this
but now the record company gets the bill, so i’m chill
get my fill getting ill with the pill or the swill

every brain cell i k!ll, i regenerate a mill
what the deal yo, with the way i fell so much stress
why, it was my sperm on monica’s dress
i confess, more or less, that the west is the best
ain’t that right, ry (psyche) both coasts’ what i like

when i was younger and in school
my teacher grabbed my pad and pen
he’s insane, he’s a fool
said you better try again

now you take all of the teachers from
kindergarten to the 12th grade that i ever had ever
put them in a room, empty your pockets, you may be clever
but i’m making more than all ya’ll teachers put together

on stage all the girlies nipples in the crowd got check
(woo hah) got you all erect
and when they asking the g how’d you get so twisted
i twitch but i’m calm, don’t ask me, ask my mom
hey ma, hey ma, hey ma, hey ma
thanks, thanks for the +n+l thermometer
ma, hey ma, hey ma, hey ma
+n+l thermometer!

the scent of vaseline, it’ll make me scream
like i’m in a bad dream like a fiend screen scene
with the theme from halloween, know what i mean
mr. clean seems to gleam

’til he ream then his misdamean my spleen
causing my rage to beam, lyrical machine
like a white rakim, so don’t tell me to go to h+ll
chi+double+l tha’s be the way to quell

my uncertainty, not by hurting me, h+ll
you don’t gotta stick no nothing all up in my b+tt
to find out how i feel, girl, just say yo what’s up

don’t tell me you love me
then bend me and f+ck
don’t bend me and f+ck me
then tell me that you love me true

- the o bklyn lyrics

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