Lyrics
Yo
Pour the pitcher I'm the catcher J. D. Salinger
You're the chump, face the champ your man's a challenger
Poo and Booka Watu Penda Pesa, say boss didn't pay us
I heard he saw clips
But I don't clap them shits
I know about three or four who will give your ass
Six rounds of applause
It's futile to haggle a contract clause
We only obey laws that coincide with the ones we make
If the Jager don't kill me, the Goldschläger may
I plan to leave Las Vegas with seventeen geese
Sugar abuse yields mad tooth decay
Fools sniff cocaine
And those who spark bowls with butane
Have merely been tricked into a habit that's hard to kick
But who invented the recipe?
He got expelled before his mind could grasp chemistry
Enemies of best friends of me
God only knows what makes me tick, Christ only tells me what to think
Spiru-Tein in my morning drink
Jack and coke for the brunch one
Maybe me a heiney for lunch, make it a tall one
Put me on the guest list, plus one
So me and B can drink 'til the fuckin' cows come
Hey kids, don't follow that dope
Zoloft, Celexa, Prozac the heck with ya
Self-medicated equals less frustrated
When I see a now or Later, I annihilate it
Sugar kills too, ask a diabetic
Flow's sick, beat's pathetic
One and twos and copesthetic
Old beats deaded
