[Speak]
Just woke up another day another dollar that I ain't make
Another search for that one soul I can't hate

Can't think of a wrong turn I ain't take
or think of a past (*##$ I ain't rape
or at least think about it

Because if you talk about it got to be about it
At least that's what they used to tell me when I dreamed about it
Self-suppression and hate where would I be without it

Seems to be the only reason I can script
This %#@!, but $#&@ it I live this %#@!
So why not speak about hell, seems I know it so well

They say you make the happy endings to the stories you tell
And that's bull%#@!, so if I get a range then maybe I'll get a (*##$
Put hickeys over her neck instead of slittin her %#@!

Join a local church stock bibles at the crib
Have a daughter and support her at ballet recital gigs
Barbecues with neighbors and a belly full of beer

Nine to five every mornin mad cause I never lived
^!$$% $#&@ that, cause I would rather be
the ^!$$% with the whole world mad at me than the !@$)got I'm not


[Chorus]
Why the $#&@ you talkin to me like I ain't got guap (you don't)

Why you actin like my tape won't knock (it won't)
Well $#&@ you and I hope you rot (croak)
Whatever, whatever, whatever

Why the $#&@ you talkin to me like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you actin like my tape won't knock (it won't)
Well $#&@ you and I hope you rot (well, you're an $$#hole)

Whatever, whatever, whatever

[Speak]

Here's another rap from your favorite hipster !@$)got
The unfunny cunt youn rap Bob Saget
Who keeps a full house full of (*##$es like the Olsen Twins

And lets them !@(% binge until they're flyin of the hinge
I'm a sleaze bag baby that's a known fact
Got a fetish for them black girls that make their $$# clap

But they don't $#&@ with me my dick is extra medium
So I sit home alone higher than some helium
No one was feelin him until I threw a curve ball

A couple sticks of dynamite stuffed inside a Nerf ball
How you makin hits swingin with a wifflebat
How the $#&@ you gettin high puffin simple nickel sacks

Nickelback, fickle rap, I'm bringin Tommy Pickles back
(*##$ $#&@ your kids tuck them in I think they need a little nap
I'm in your kitchen now puffin on a cigarette

You can toss my salad but don't forget the vinaigrette
I'm balsamic with Islamic fundamentalist
A real mother$#&@er catchin wrecks like Oedipus

Better warn you relatives when I'm on the rampage
In a drunken half daze and I ain't touch a damn stage
But once I'm there I might come up live

And if her legs are opened up I might### inside
#~!!@ fat like a welcome mat yellin Speaky welcome back
Leave it worn and leave it torn until I've had enough of that