Off Broadway - Intellectual

[Verse 1: Rob Sonic]

Fire of the opal blitz

Take everything your clothes can fit

And give the post and roses before coach misses his bowling pins

And don’t admit to nothing, become badder ‘bout the cookie jar

The driving doesn’t matter when they ask about how good you park

A ten from all the judges, we got cousins at the carousel

And Trixie in the kissing booth with big balloons and hair from hell

Share the wealth my dude, do not be chiefing all my Fabergé

I stole it from my pop’s room in a costume and a black beret

Perhaps I may have gone too far by telling her my business booms

I take my Bentley off-road, oh, and also that my dick is huge

I pick and choose my battles to be raffled off in cactus chairs

It’s my way or the highway or some crime tape and some traffic flares

Fashion fares, smacking gum, the beef and brats are relish-tipped

The sour patch to house your hat, the power that compels your kids

To help with it I’m flipping birds and cursing as my family frowns

Turn your mens and them to little engines that just can’t right now

You got the part as the star of the show

Mom brought home the wrong baby

Chained in the attic for y’alls safety

Steak tossed in that cage daily

She raised the gate the same day turned 18, ay

Now I’m always the away team

Yay-long wake of D-Days and daisies

9-1-1, menace at the Macy’s

Wake up, face the rabies, taste the brain freeze

Ape at the Empire State going ape

Midtown raining planes, I got

5-0 with the binos aimed, “Hey Chief

He up there painting his name"

"He up there saving the dames"

Dangerous game, as he label the rain

When the anger and hate flare up

As a fatal attain, Abel or Cain

Mage friends that forecast, my tongue pressed to this frog’s back

I am the walrus, it says walrus on my dog tag

Red gauze on my paw pads, I’m like Rembrandt when I moonwalk

Red, white, and blue sweatbands, the most deadpan in New York

Saturday night not dead yet, gravity dice on the velvet

Taking his tie off, waving the flies off, traced in a eye on his helmet, well

Band-aids on hellholes and hellscapes, it’s

Elbows on elbows, it’s handshakes like shell games, yeah

You got the part as the star of the show