Man, I don't think they ready, yo, they never used to get me, now, they want a verse so bad these dudes'll beg me,
we heavy like a pregnant stegosaurus on this chorus, check my corpus, kid, I'll be a corpse before I'm forced to fork and put a cork in it. Sports night, Aaron Sorkin it, the porch light's blaring more, insist I won't divorce the course until I'm bringin' home the porky pig,
singin' tomes that's portly big, it's dorky, but they dig it, I'm a Yorkie fighting orcs, compete resourcefully to stick there,
unfairly tried to battle me, but like Jeremy and Natalie, we got together better set to sever all this prattle,
if you heard/herd my words like cattle to your auditory cores, than you know I ride the beat until my cheeks get saddle sores,
speaking addled metaphors that more than sting your pores like nettle, we've been movin' from aluminum to hi-ten heavy mettle, bevvy kettles bustin' devil necks when all the dust is settled, you should trust this musty brother 'cause he's on another level, motherfucker
This shit comin' through the speakers sounds sweeter than a child of mine,
I'm itchin' to rap so give me tracks or calamine lotion,
I've been sippin' on the potion, but to be frank, my flow's wetter than the ocean.
You second that emotion? I'm better than emojis,
a veteran, I've ended more men/min than hochi,
more men than Utah or you saw in Sochi,
before men like George, I grilled them with low heat,
heat like the Gobi, deep like Moby -- Dick, I'm an allstar pick like Kobe, the black mamba, I'm tight --sike/Syke-- Wanda,
I'm hot Vivica Fox with thoughts, Vivekananda,
you know that swami who taught the Vedanta ehh... that's a stretch like a Hyundai Elantra
with four more doors and a fridge full of Fanta,
I'm bored/board like floors so I made this song while I watch on TV more 'E' than Honda,
more 'E' than Cummings,
more 'E'/Maury than Povich,
More 'E' than Z-mac, like Lezak, my flow is wet,
stay fresh like Fetts with new armor, ya dude been the best since Luke was a farmer
Man, I'm too on a roll to stop,
I'm colder than a Polar Pop, filled with ice and cola to the top then dropped in holes with blocks
that's frozen Minnesota flows, my prose is finna blow the spot,
my lake effect will take effect, don't make a bet the snow will stop,
take my records to the shows and they're a scary home companion, been in tape decks from Lake Wobegon to parries roamin canyons, combin' stand-ins to the throne I own with no plans to abandon 'till it's just me here with two musketeers and three beers for D'Artagnon,
our demands in hand, we'll span the land, adding fans like ampersand, tamper with the master plan, you take your ass to pasture, fam,
actors lacking practice, packing wackness ever faster man,
you're grabbing pens and pencils when your credentials are a buss pass,
you did to rap what Hitler did to Charlie Chaplin's mustache,
Is this Carly Simon rhymin'? If you're gettin' dap, then fuck that,
I'll slap these cats so hard their backs'll bend and touch their nutsacks, Trust that.
credits
from Gap Year,
released November 12, 2014
Lyrics by MC|DC, produced by Subadoh
If you like my raps, you should check this out. It's me, but with some really cool live and electronic instrumentation. Less punk and more... dense and polished? MC|DC
Really weird, but earnest experimental folk-punk from the homie. His output is prodigious, prolific, and terrific, and it would be a shame if you missed it. MC|DC