Crap Artists - Intellectual

[Verse 1: Despot]

Everyone clap for the crap artists

A pat on the back to whichever one sounds smartest

Capture the magic of blabberin' half-hearted

And the last rambling man standing laughs hardest

Pan-handling a grand, standing on red carpets

Doing the camera flash dance in new pants, targets

Tune in to catch a glance of a new fad starting

They only listen when you spittin' what the bad part is

Eyes glazed over, watch your idols cry for food

Words big as their appetites and none of them are true

Fresh out of shit to say but still got plenty to prove

Like these words were made for talking and talking's not for you

My sleeves are stuffed with better ways to say things

I pull them out at the first hint of the spell breaking

Real magic making for an honorable mention

So clap where people can see you my ego needs tending

Only tip my hat to cats with scratch to toss in it

Fill it up, while the rabbit distracts the lost children

Make a living off of milking them for teardrops

And mashing words together till the mother fucking beat stops

Soon enough they'll tell you that you're spouting out their dreams

Not the racket of an idiot with eyes on that supreme spot

And a folding chair to pull up at the top

For a seat next to the toilet where the shit that doesn't stink drops

Could almost see it every time I pitch rocks

Camped out in a glass house with a slingshot

[Hook: Despot]

I get paid to breathe

Hooray for me

I get paid to breathe

Hooray for me

I get paid to breathe

Hooray for me

[Verse 2: Despot]

Great job rapping, now the second-hand knows your name

And is playing bloody knuckles with your 15 minutes of fame

That spot on the top 10 list's just a stain

But everything looks better when you put it in a frame

Just hang it next to that impressive portrait in your pane

And nag about how it's unfortunate to be the same

Charge 'em for a peek, push 'em out quick, "Thanks for coming."

Super-star mystique; couldn't see what, but it was stunning

Get every whimpering crowd buzzin'

Till that old fat lady's too weak to sing above it

So it's over when it's muffled by the rumble of her stomach

Or somebody dents a shovel thinking they finally struck it

For the deeper meaning, dig cause your treasure's a whoopie cushion

And a fresh new grave you already put your foot in

Sitting on a secret, now you're embarrassed for looking

And that big red button looks about ripe for pushing

Someone mistook the magic beans for food

So whoever fart the loudest is obviously the truth

And what could make me prouder than pouring salt in the wounds

Of them kids who still believe cows jump over moons

Something to do while making sure you all stay dizzy

Ball up the fist, squeeze the life out of pretty

Wait until their back's turned, screaming "Don't hit me!"

And they'll find no pity, cause the sign said "Kick Me"

[Hook: Despot]

I get paid to breathe

Hooray for me

I get paid to breathe

Hooray for me

I get paid to breathe

Hooray for me