I'm sick of the same arguments, I'm sick of debates

I'm sick of cynical rappers reading a list of complaints

I'm sicker than I'm sick of mental midgets who say

They're sicker than AIDS...and kick it like it's an original phrase

I'm sick of cliches, getting bored with metaphors

And the adolescent level of skills you settle for

Minumum wage, average cats accept that

But if you want the next shit, then stop buying fresh crap

If I really spoke my mind it would involve an interpreter

And alter the curvature of the walls and the furniture

I don't see dead people but they do read me poetry

When I go to sleep, t-t-time to stop smoking weed

I know exactly who I'm trying to reach

By combining the science of beats with the mind of a priest

I'm the father figure eight administrator

The liquid laser...shit I only make sense to physics majors

Pissing off these christians cuz I'm doper than God

Hold the applause -- I accept checks and Soviet bombs

And if the Man comes knocking, just let him inside

I got a few machetes to buy and I'm ready to die

It's the vigilante...chasing chubby chicks in panties

It's like I'm Santa how I'm handing out obituaries

You got all the right equations to explain why you're not famous

But face it....so does every waitress in Las Vegas

I'm sick of the same arguments, I'm sick of debates

I'm sick of cynical rappers reading a list of complaints

I'm sicker than I'm sick of mental midgets who say

They're sicker than AIDS...and kick it like it's an original phrase

I'm sick of cliches, getting bored with metaphors

And the adolescent level of skills you settle for

Minumum wage, average cats accept that

But if you want the next shit, then stop buying fresh crap

And that's the difference, little league versus rap olympics

You're a cover band, I'm an established business

You're wasting your life, and I'm trained to strangle the mic

So let me make sure that I'm explaining it right:

You're big city nothing, I'm small town famous

You dress up like a rapper, I just run around naked

You call women bitches, then get nervous and ignore 'em

But I'm the kinda guy who holds the door open for 'em

You sock puppets talk about the guns you don't have

I don't talk about all the guns I do have, true facts

And it's the cypher champion type, hand me a mic

I'll be dismantling your fantasty life

Wombaticus Rex, rapping for checks, status and sex

NO SUCH LUCK, now my ass is in debt

You don't get cash for respect, or battling heads

I got a black sense of humor and I'm laughing to death