Excuse You Lyrics
| Song | Excuse You |
| Artist | MC Paul Barman |
| Album | Paullelujah! |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Barman, Weitz | |
| I make def tunes, take from MF Doom and Jeff Koons | |
| No one left for the restrooms when I got on stage | |
| I can rock the mic to silence by John Cage | |
| With the arty flavor, I shoot the gift like a party favor | |
| Flip the script and make it do cartwheels | |
| Feel smart, steal hearts and start meals with chocolates | |
| I drop gems like I got holes in my pockets | |
| Why talk, heck, oh fuck | |
| I catch wreck like a tow truck, silly kid | |
| I'm iller than the Iliad and flow more than Shoah | |
| While you're so corny you've gotta SOH CAH TOA | |
| PEMDAS EFX the number one skirmisher | |
| I'm in the house like furniture, pessimist | |
| I'll push the envelope off a precipice | |
| I push the envelope so hard, it says 'excuse you' | |
| Take two and pass, make you spin on your ass | |
| Like a green paint sprinkler on white grass | |
| I'm rapping, son (you're not my dad) | |
| If you think you think outside the box, you're trapped in one | |
| I'm advancing the art form, depantsing a fat storm | |
| Some people don't like thinking, I guess it's too hard for 'em | |
| My dope duds don't touch soap suds | |
| I keep it realer than a rotoscope does | |
| I keep it more Gully than Jonathan Livingston | |
| Brag rhymes have no lag times, acrostics, narratives | |
| Fibbonacci challenge poems, declarative palendromes | |
| Manifestoes, my five fans can attest, yo | |
| Coming soon, Morse code | |
| Kiragami, Krikigami, Kirigami, Origami | |
| Bombard you with retard-uous wordplay | |
| Rhymes come so easy I issue harsher restraints | |
| And if I had any rhythm, maybe you'd finally faint | |
| The way I communicate can make a freakin' eunuch mate | |
| I write first person, light verse in a white hearse | |
| And I'm the Ne plus ultra of B plus culture | |
| My goal is to make you go Holy frijoles | |
| Jesus H. Christ, where H stands for Holy crap | |
| To boldly rap into the outer reaches, this doubter teachers | |
| Defining God as aligning a divining rod with your reclining bod | |
| Cause life is fickle, hellish, anemic, sickle cellish | |
| Dude, you'll get chopped up like pickle relish | |
| And when we perish, we're, what's the term dude, worm food | |
| Worm food, friends' memories fade, you're remembered by what you've made | |
| So I intertwine my mind and my rhymes in a braid | |
| I bunjie jump into my grungy dump | |
| And come up with a trust fundy, dust bunny, spongey clump | |
| I got a very goth towel, a Terry Clark cowel | |
| And when I wear it, I'm a hairy moth owl |
| zuo ci : Barman, Weitz | |
| I make def tunes, take from MF Doom and Jeff Koons | |
| No one left for the restrooms when I got on stage | |
| I can rock the mic to silence by John Cage | |
| With the arty flavor, I shoot the gift like a party favor | |
| Flip the script and make it do cartwheels | |
| Feel smart, steal hearts and start meals with chocolates | |
| I drop gems like I got holes in my pockets | |
| Why talk, heck, oh fuck | |
| I catch wreck like a tow truck, silly kid | |
| I' m iller than the Iliad and flow more than Shoah | |
| While you' re so corny you' ve gotta SOH CAH TOA | |
| PEMDAS EFX the number one skirmisher | |
| I' m in the house like furniture, pessimist | |
| I' ll push the envelope off a precipice | |
| I push the envelope so hard, it says ' excuse you' | |
| Take two and pass, make you spin on your ass | |
| Like a green paint sprinkler on white grass | |
| I' m rapping, son you' re not my dad | |
| If you think you think outside the box, you' re trapped in one | |
| I' m advancing the art form, depantsing a fat storm | |
| Some people don' t like thinking, I guess it' s too hard for ' em | |
| My dope duds don' t touch soap suds | |
| I keep it realer than a rotoscope does | |
| I keep it more Gully than Jonathan Livingston | |
| Brag rhymes have no lag times, acrostics, narratives | |
| Fibbonacci challenge poems, declarative palendromes | |
| Manifestoes, my five fans can attest, yo | |
| Coming soon, Morse code | |
| Kiragami, Krikigami, Kirigami, Origami | |
| Bombard you with retarduous wordplay | |
| Rhymes come so easy I issue harsher restraints | |
| And if I had any rhythm, maybe you' d finally faint | |
| The way I communicate can make a freakin' eunuch mate | |
| I write first person, light verse in a white hearse | |
| And I' m the Ne plus ultra of B plus culture | |
| My goal is to make you go Holy frijoles | |
| Jesus H. Christ, where H stands for Holy crap | |
| To boldly rap into the outer reaches, this doubter teachers | |
| Defining God as aligning a divining rod with your reclining bod | |
| Cause life is fickle, hellish, anemic, sickle cellish | |
| Dude, you' ll get chopped up like pickle relish | |
| And when we perish, we' re, what' s the term dude, worm food | |
| Worm food, friends' memories fade, you' re remembered by what you' ve made | |
| So I intertwine my mind and my rhymes in a braid | |
| I bunjie jump into my grungy dump | |
| And come up with a trust fundy, dust bunny, spongey clump | |
| I got a very goth towel, a Terry Clark cowel | |
| And when I wear it, I' m a hairy moth owl |
| zuò cí : Barman, Weitz | |
| I make def tunes, take from MF Doom and Jeff Koons | |
| No one left for the restrooms when I got on stage | |
| I can rock the mic to silence by John Cage | |
| With the arty flavor, I shoot the gift like a party favor | |
| Flip the script and make it do cartwheels | |
| Feel smart, steal hearts and start meals with chocolates | |
| I drop gems like I got holes in my pockets | |
| Why talk, heck, oh fuck | |
| I catch wreck like a tow truck, silly kid | |
| I' m iller than the Iliad and flow more than Shoah | |
| While you' re so corny you' ve gotta SOH CAH TOA | |
| PEMDAS EFX the number one skirmisher | |
| I' m in the house like furniture, pessimist | |
| I' ll push the envelope off a precipice | |
| I push the envelope so hard, it says ' excuse you' | |
| Take two and pass, make you spin on your ass | |
| Like a green paint sprinkler on white grass | |
| I' m rapping, son you' re not my dad | |
| If you think you think outside the box, you' re trapped in one | |
| I' m advancing the art form, depantsing a fat storm | |
| Some people don' t like thinking, I guess it' s too hard for ' em | |
| My dope duds don' t touch soap suds | |
| I keep it realer than a rotoscope does | |
| I keep it more Gully than Jonathan Livingston | |
| Brag rhymes have no lag times, acrostics, narratives | |
| Fibbonacci challenge poems, declarative palendromes | |
| Manifestoes, my five fans can attest, yo | |
| Coming soon, Morse code | |
| Kiragami, Krikigami, Kirigami, Origami | |
| Bombard you with retarduous wordplay | |
| Rhymes come so easy I issue harsher restraints | |
| And if I had any rhythm, maybe you' d finally faint | |
| The way I communicate can make a freakin' eunuch mate | |
| I write first person, light verse in a white hearse | |
| And I' m the Ne plus ultra of B plus culture | |
| My goal is to make you go Holy frijoles | |
| Jesus H. Christ, where H stands for Holy crap | |
| To boldly rap into the outer reaches, this doubter teachers | |
| Defining God as aligning a divining rod with your reclining bod | |
| Cause life is fickle, hellish, anemic, sickle cellish | |
| Dude, you' ll get chopped up like pickle relish | |
| And when we perish, we' re, what' s the term dude, worm food | |
| Worm food, friends' memories fade, you' re remembered by what you' ve made | |
| So I intertwine my mind and my rhymes in a braid | |
| I bunjie jump into my grungy dump | |
| And come up with a trust fundy, dust bunny, spongey clump | |
| I got a very goth towel, a Terry Clark cowel | |
| And when I wear it, I' m a hairy moth owl |
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