[Intro:]

[Verse 1: Spaceman]

I'm nasty, snatch your cat proceed to hurt you badly

Then brashly get attacked by an ashy pack of Apaches

Catch me applying nicotine patches to my ass cheeks

Actually eating Laffy Taffy in some snazzy khakis

This that rad rap, spit it while I'm sitting on your dad's lap

Get ransacked, Smiphen shitting: DOOT DOOT BRAP BRAP

I'm spitting in your third eye while sipping on a stirred chai

Kick and make you nerds cry, I'm sick and I've been bird fly

I'm cool as a cucumber, you a confused mumbler

Making a few numbers while I sit and review Tumblr

Ba-da-ba-bow

Don't ask me how

I got this fly

Just call me Space Guy

Lurking for some boobies while you're chewing on your doobies

Snacking on your scoobies while you're hocking up some loogies

Goodness gracious golly, why don't you go pop some molly

And get rolling like a dolly on the backside of a trolley

[Hook: Spaceman]

Johnny F and Spaceman a formidable crew

Acts of violence that you thought you'd only see in cartoons

All we wreak is havoc as we storm through your rooms

Like we're tearing down the streamers and we're popping balloons

Wilding out what we about and what we like to do

Red just isn't dark enough we paint the town maroon (3x)

[Verse 2: John F. Centipede]

Yo, catch us in the Buick Century, we going postal

Rowdy with the locals, going Barbary Coastal

Like its decadent debauchery in gold rush San Francisco

But our parties don't go Donner, more like LAN with Nabisco

No, its crazy how it is, like no filter on your photos

Slickly sliding in the whip betwixt two bells like agogo

Windows down, they leaning on my shoulders when its colder

Cuz the Young Bruce McCullough win em over with a smolder

I spit what fills the pot where the rainbow stops

I'm steady bumming black and milds off of plainclothes cops

John F. Centipede or Young Wishes-That-He-Had-More-Black-Friends

Or Lil' Only-Exercise-He-Gets-is-Doing-Rap-Hands

Pull up blasting T Swift cuz we trouble trouble trouble

Yet we merrier than pranksters that rode with Tommy Dubya

Electric Kool-Aid Molly Test, this that Hunter Thompson-esque

Fear and Loathing of these boys whose late night larks make mommies stressed

[Hook]

[Outro: John F. Kennedy]

We choose to go to the moon

We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things

Not because they are easy

But because they are hard