| Song | Food for Mic Skills |
| Artist | Gym Class Heroes |
| Album | ...for the Kids |
| Travis been known to spit lyrical backflips on tracks with skate kicks | |
| Osiris had the flyest but | |
| I'm all about | |
| Axion, Verbal bigspin | |
| I Crooked grind your melon for not listenin', | |
| I'm beyond regular, you stuck in fakie position | |
| The funny thing is | |
| I don't skate but | |
| I'll deflate your whole ego | |
| Manipulate your face and replace it with something uglier than | |
| The product of | |
| Sha-nae-nae and | |
| Patrick Ewing havin' a baby(Damn Travis you crazy) | |
| Nah just a little misunderstood | |
| I got the planet in confusion, for the simple fact my vocabulary lacks the word losin' | |
| Contusions are placed across the bodies of any challengers | |
| I'll leave my mark then disappear like | |
| J.D. Salinger, | |
| As whack emcee's continue scuffin' their knees, | |
| Suckin' the dicks of | |
| A&R's just to get their platinum chains and cars, | |
| I'ma keep on doin' my thing, | |
| Broke as Macy | |
| Gray would be with a regular voice trying to sing, | |
| Who wanna bring it to these | |
| Crab Apple affiliates, | |
| Act silly and you'll get split down the middle like a | |
| Philly gets, | |
| I've had enough of all these silent menaces, | |
| I'm for peace but you'll get quickly deceased with violent sentences, | |
| The only witnesses will be later notified to come identify the dental records of a kid offended mine,you ain't a friend of mine so | |
| I suggest you call me | |
| Mr. McCoyHot shit will burn and blister you boy | |
| We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored markers, | |
| Invade your space like feathers from down parka's, | |
| We legends in our own times and every rhyme is living proof, | |
| We drinkin' forty's from the fountain of youth, | |
| And when we done we're pissin' innocence, | |
| Cause in a sense, everything your mouth dispense don't necessarily pay the rent | |
| Or the phone bills, you can't trade food for mic skills, | |
| But if you could | |
| I'd be eating lovely, believe me. | |
| Travis McCoy be like the influenza, flow sick, | |
| These other rappers on some old common cold (SHHH), | |
| I'm sicker than that, and plus you always suck (YECK) quicker than that, | |
| And H20 aqua we be thicker than that, and if at | |
| Anytime shit gets to hard to handle | |
| I'm going out raw, | |
| Chainsaw and all like | |
| Bruce Cambell, | |
| Steppin' out the darkness with an army of creeps, | |
| Caffeine ain't allowin' | |
| Travis to get no sleep, | |
| Cause cat's speak soft, and quick to front hard like | |
| Charles Bronson, | |
| Shoutin' out | |
| Brooklyn, knowin' that they from | |
| Wisconsin, | |
| That's why | |
| I'm always concentratin' when | |
| I'm puffin' cheeba, | |
| We down with | |
| New York State and the city of | |
| Geneva,G-Town's my residence that's where | |
| I stack my dead presidents, | |
| And in my mind it ain't no time for irrelevance, come on now | |
| I thought you knew better, my rhymes are nines and my mouth's a lyrical berretta | |
| But better... | |
| YET...I make you | |
| Sweat like | |
| Keith,And have your whole crew fallin' out like rotten teeth. | |
| We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored markers, | |
| Invade your space like feathers from down parka's, | |
| We legends in our own times and every rhyme is living proof, | |
| We drinkin' forty's from the fountain of youth, | |
| And when we done we're pissin' innocence, | |
| Cause in a sense, everything your mouth dispense don't necessarily pay the rent | |
| Or the phone bills, you can't trade food for mic skills, | |
| But if you could | |
| I'd be eating lovely, believe me. | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us,who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us,who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us,who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us,who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| GCH will make it happen regardless of the element, | |
| From breakdancing, beats, graffiti shit, to straight rappin', | |
| Who got your mama's hands clappin'? | |
| Zappin' cats like the third rail, these rappers soundin' sweet over stale ass beats, | |
| Come on get serious, you're making me furious with these lame clich©'s and whack hooks | |
| Oh you ain't feelin' me? | |
| I'll beat you to death with black books, | |
| Now that I got your undivided, you got a mic? | |
| You better hide it, | |
| I'm creepin' six deep with seven swords of drunk pirates | |
| With eye patches, no teeth and burnt eye lashes,so they don't sleep and stay dodgin' car crashes, | |
| I'll smash your pride like a star that just got his fame stolen, | |
| Bash you with a mic so hard | |
| I'll leave your name swollen, | |
| Cut to the chase | |
| I'll just get to the point first, cause frankly | |
| You're shit is worse than | |
| Fred Durst's best verse, | |
| AND(AND)IT' | |
| S(IT'S)LIK | |
| E(LIKE)THA | |
| T(THAT)We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored markers, | |
| Invade your space like feathers from down parka's, | |
| We legends in our own times and every rhyme is living proof, | |
| We drinkin' forty's from the fountain of youth, | |
| And when we done we're pissin' innocence, | |
| Cause in a sense, everything your mouth dispense don't necessarily pay the rent | |
| Or the phone bills, you can't trade food for mic skills, | |
| But if you could | |
| I'd be eating lovely, believe me. |
| Travis been known to spit lyrical backflips on tracks with skate kicks | |
| Osiris had the flyest but | |
| I' m all about | |
| Axion, Verbal bigspin | |
| I Crooked grind your melon for not listenin', | |
| I' m beyond regular, you stuck in fakie position | |
| The funny thing is | |
| I don' t skate but | |
| I' ll deflate your whole ego | |
| Manipulate your face and replace it with something uglier than | |
| The product of | |
| Shanaenae and | |
| Patrick Ewing havin' a baby Damn Travis you crazy | |
| Nah just a little misunderstood | |
| I got the planet in confusion, for the simple fact my vocabulary lacks the word losin' | |
| Contusions are placed across the bodies of any challengers | |
| I' ll leave my mark then disappear like | |
| J. D. Salinger, | |
| As whack emcee' s continue scuffin' their knees, | |
| Suckin' the dicks of | |
| A R' s just to get their platinum chains and cars, | |
| I' ma keep on doin' my thing, | |
| Broke as Macy | |
| Gray would be with a regular voice trying to sing, | |
| Who wanna bring it to these | |
| Crab Apple affiliates, | |
| Act silly and you' ll get split down the middle like a | |
| Philly gets, | |
| I' ve had enough of all these silent menaces, | |
| I' m for peace but you' ll get quickly deceased with violent sentences, | |
| The only witnesses will be later notified to come identify the dental records of a kid offended mine, you ain' t a friend of mine so | |
| I suggest you call me | |
| Mr. McCoyHot shit will burn and blister you boy | |
| We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored markers, | |
| Invade your space like feathers from down parka' s, | |
| We legends in our own times and every rhyme is living proof, | |
| We drinkin' forty' s from the fountain of youth, | |
| And when we done we' re pissin' innocence, | |
| Cause in a sense, everything your mouth dispense don' t necessarily pay the rent | |
| Or the phone bills, you can' t trade food for mic skills, | |
| But if you could | |
| I' d be eating lovely, believe me. | |
| Travis McCoy be like the influenza, flow sick, | |
| These other rappers on some old common cold SHHH, | |
| I' m sicker than that, and plus you always suck YECK quicker than that, | |
| And H20 aqua we be thicker than that, and if at | |
| Anytime shit gets to hard to handle | |
| I' m going out raw, | |
| Chainsaw and all like | |
| Bruce Cambell, | |
| Steppin' out the darkness with an army of creeps, | |
| Caffeine ain' t allowin' | |
| Travis to get no sleep, | |
| Cause cat' s speak soft, and quick to front hard like | |
| Charles Bronson, | |
| Shoutin' out | |
| Brooklyn, knowin' that they from | |
| Wisconsin, | |
| That' s why | |
| I' m always concentratin' when | |
| I' m puffin' cheeba, | |
| We down with | |
| New York State and the city of | |
| Geneva, GTown' s my residence that' s where | |
| I stack my dead presidents, | |
| And in my mind it ain' t no time for irrelevance, come on now | |
| I thought you knew better, my rhymes are nines and my mouth' s a lyrical berretta | |
| But better... | |
| YET... I make you | |
| Sweat like | |
| Keith, And have your whole crew fallin' out like rotten teeth. | |
| We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored markers, | |
| Invade your space like feathers from down parka' s, | |
| We legends in our own times and every rhyme is living proof, | |
| We drinkin' forty' s from the fountain of youth, | |
| And when we done we' re pissin' innocence, | |
| Cause in a sense, everything your mouth dispense don' t necessarily pay the rent | |
| Or the phone bills, you can' t trade food for mic skills, | |
| But if you could | |
| I' d be eating lovely, believe me. | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us, who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us, who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us, who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| Who start it like us, rip a part it like us, who you know jump on the stage and get retarded like us? | |
| GCH will make it happen regardless of the element, | |
| From breakdancing, beats, graffiti shit, to straight rappin', | |
| Who got your mama' s hands clappin'? | |
| Zappin' cats like the third rail, these rappers soundin' sweet over stale ass beats, | |
| Come on get serious, you' re making me furious with these lame clich' s and whack hooks | |
| Oh you ain' t feelin' me? | |
| I' ll beat you to death with black books, | |
| Now that I got your undivided, you got a mic? | |
| You better hide it, | |
| I' m creepin' six deep with seven swords of drunk pirates | |
| With eye patches, no teeth and burnt eye lashes, so they don' t sleep and stay dodgin' car crashes, | |
| I' ll smash your pride like a star that just got his fame stolen, | |
| Bash you with a mic so hard | |
| I' ll leave your name swollen, | |
| Cut to the chase | |
| I' ll just get to the point first, cause frankly | |
| You' re shit is worse than | |
| Fred Durst' s best verse, | |
| AND AND IT' | |
| S IT' S LIK | |
| E LIKE THA | |
| T THAT We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored markers, | |
| Invade your space like feathers from down parka' s, | |
| We legends in our own times and every rhyme is living proof, | |
| We drinkin' forty' s from the fountain of youth, | |
| And when we done we' re pissin' innocence, | |
| Cause in a sense, everything your mouth dispense don' t necessarily pay the rent | |
| Or the phone bills, you can' t trade food for mic skills, | |
| But if you could | |
| I' d be eating lovely, believe me. |