Homer Simpson ’70 Shmeister

Lyrics

I ain't a Simp Son, but I bet I hit a Homer (D'oh!) Causin convulsions, you can feel it in the aroma (Oh?) Coppers they want some (Ew) Fuck you I don't want none (Ew) Shit is so gross make me go blech, like BLECHH You soundin just like a baby the way you go like WAHH I feel like I have to hiccup (*hiccup*) Just like a truck you gon pickup (pick up) Fuck you get drunk off the liquor (WOO) Feel like Missy Get Ur Freak On (freak on) Feel like Missy Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame Talkin Missy Misdemeanor (meaner!) Playin on this shit like it was a game You gonna have to get beat up (beat up) If you really really really wanna kill me Than you just need a peanut (peanut) I don't have any control ovеr my allergies So I nevеr can eat up (eat up) I play the drums and I hit a blast beat You can call me Dying Fetus (Dying Fetus) You don't got privilege to meet us (meet us) Take off the bunyon, Lapidus (Lapidus) Got your foot, got your nose, got your whole soul Got your life, got it hot, got it cold I need to relax so I'm gonna go kick it out, put my feet up (feet up) Why did you smoke all of my shit, now I gotta go and re-up (re-up) I'm gonna have to overrule that one, I gotta veto (veto) I had the cookies with loads of the elves, call it the Keebler '70 Shmeister (sheebo) '70 Shmeister (yo sheebo) Big money big money big money, sights on (pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew sheebo) Yeah my shit boom gon sound like Warzone Yeah I got you man RIP BOZO Tryna ask me like huh I don't know Tryna ask me like huh I don't know I ain't a Simp Son, but I bet I hit a Homer (D'oh!) Causin convulsions, you can feel it in the aroma (Oh?) Coppers they want some (Ew) Fuck you I don't want none (Ew) Shit is so gross make me go blech, like BLECHH You soundin just like a baby the way you go like WAHH I feel like I have to hiccup (*hiccup*) Just like a truck you gon pickup (pick up) Fuck you get drunk off the liquor (WOO) Feel like Missy Get Ur Freak On (freak on) Feel like Missy Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame Talkin Missy Misdemeanor (meaner!) Playin on this shit like it was a game You gonna have to get beat up (beat up) If you really really really wanna kill me Than you just need a peanut (peanut) I don't have any control over my allergies So I never can eat up (eat up) I play the drums and I hit a blast beat You can call me Dying Fetus (Dying Fetus) You don't got privilege to meet us (meet us) Take off the bunyon, Lapidus (Lapidus) Got your foot, got your nose, got your whole soul Got your life, got it hot, got it cold (guttural lows) Ee-yuh