Lyrics

[Intro] *Laughter* Hee hee hee! [Verse 1: Onry Ozzborn] Bah humbug, We in control of the grid Because you haven't got a clue and we do so we did so rid You of your duties, persist we will Me and Ninjaface with this AR wardrobe dressed to kill We best at skill, we ill, we say all our rhymes We thrill, we drop the jaw like Kanye and Fitty We off the wall, we fly, we cover the wild We calm, we eat, we walk, we take no pity No mercy we're makin' you say Uncle like Shadow As we twist and turn our cursive like a game of quidditch with an animal We lost you but we got you back by gradually holding this fort down Annual, continuous, heads on the mantle Perhaps you're a fan of trophies, turbo nerds, and pretty ladies Perhaps you and your man will run the laps comparing babies Perhaps either is what is needed to complete this anecdote To fight that squeamish feeling most music be fuckin' leavin' [Chorus: JFK Ninjaface] Not even would a burner to the face Pose enough to scare a crow as Little Bobby No matter how much the game might have changed Show no pity Little Billy, give 'em Godly [Verse 2: JFK Ninjaface] Yeah, I figured how to style on 'em, fresh dripping Krylon While plagiaristic peasants emulate my killer flow Quicker toes to sling the sidearm, these ghosts to me's the bygones Promote the loathsome demons watch a legion of them grow But your allegiance to the Skul, could mean a murder to a crow [?] gallows [?] where vultures roam From the zenith I perspect the fearing soul, as it appears these humans gloat The unexpected start to choke on their own ropes and decompose Ya face feeders, stereo receiving creature With a pocket full of ether and a roach for Misses Cleaver Yeah my yeti haskell-like demeaner Had her acting like it's Easter, dripping wet between her femurs These common aliens 'll make you firm believers Turn a bitter melon gold to mortify an Ebenezer A quarter full of gold to toll the souls to greet the reaper Here's a thousand skulls beheaded mortals Take me to your leader [Chorus: JFK Ninjaface] Not even would a burner to the face Pose enough to scare a crow as Little Bobby No matter how much the game might have changed Show no pity Little Billy, give 'em Godly [Verse 3: Aesop Rock] Uh, What misfortune befalls? What crawls from the drain? Dissolves in his aim? Plus awkward spreaders out of spider silk crosshairs Christ Cross skip outmoded with the lost years Far away from puking with facials and unicorn tears All black storms over children of the cornfield Marching, Mondays mostly morbid Within the confines of a sloping forehead I was into it all gussied up Play to win and aimed his chins up and up Belly over belt he put the 'must' in smut Son of aceline is statistically impossible Yet never misses holidays and visits in the hospitals Meanwhile feverishly Windexing his monocle To study all the missionaries picnicking in productville Might just recommend a little shuteye Before we bring the future to you motherfucking Luddites [Chorus: JFK Ninjaface] Not even would a burner to the face Pose enough to scare a crow as Little Bobby No matter how much the game might have changed Show no pity Little Billy, give 'em Godly