Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Megaton B-Boy 2000 , by - Handsome Boy Modeling School. Release date: 31.12.1998
Song language: English
Megaton B-Boy 2000 |
| I drop a bucket of sexy intellect piss mongoloid |
| Survive driven heated millenial text mostly |
| Closer to chemical icon warchest |
| Shipwrecked incredible hybrid malform mechanism |
| And let the sycophants eat the jism |
| Stuck between butt-naked pre-military draft |
| Schizophonetic we’re all gonna burn deer hunter sentiment |
| Infomercial commodity Mason-approved killer cortizone method dialect from |
| infected rhyme tenement |
| Most motherfuckers just civily suck a burrito from a shit box anyway |
| Step up to little Johnny thus survive mega-retarded |
| Animals from plastic bubble-dome sulfur oxide |
| A Hanley hospital escapee |
| If you haven’t been raped lately |
| Goddamn I shit on it |
| After the acidic high colonic epoxy |
| We dreams dirty words like drones to the hell-out pervs |
| From the automated needles fed bedlam catatonic tirades |
| To the sucker bitch lymph nodes corroding |
| I don’t laugh |
| Emasculated remainders have died ambiguously gay |
| Siegfried and Roy intern class mean death jokes |
| They bring 'em to the fucking gimp festival |
| Conformity’s for the castrati court formula art |
| Yo, fuck the afterthoughts where they start |
| The children get their gift from the don’t-give-em-shit tree |
| The worlds too delineated from a bitch-force community |
| My shit in a uncommunicible silent snuff film images work consistently |
| Dumb shit conniption El-P activate |
| Megaton B-Boy battle sucker bitch remedial flaccid bone piece metal track |
| catalyst |
| Dust at the scrimmages |
| Flavor collectible faggot MC cop-em' out of miniature |
| Flame shot |
| Vocal from a tip dog episode sub-local robot bipartisan codpiece programmable |
| shang knee elbow |
| The latter half of the century hard-rockin' |
| Sounds retarded, doesn’t it? |
| I could say eat a dick cookie to turn my back on you |
| Casually comfortable with seven minutes of refreshing relax into missionary |
| positionin' |
| Cap the metal clause and a life glistening |
| Who’ll rob Chris for controlled substance for sustenance quota? |
| Cavity creep incorporated savagery lesson funk motto |
| Pushing (???) aroma |
| Ingested like the flesh of Christ extra nice sacrament matter device |
| Tested and approved loose and forefinger bell-ringer |
| Never say the same shit twice |
| Period! |
| I am the |
| Lord of the fly-by |
| Shit designer Tesla and Einstein hybrid |
| Bored of the monotonous crime skits and pseudo keep it real independent fine |
| You’re fuckin' with a hot climate |
| I approach as a man with mechanical mandibles |
| Extended in a come scrap with a digital linguist position |
| Faded out from the fact that a skull piece and a prom of display from the |
| feminine drum kit’s affliction |
| Man, listen |
| Actual fact is my brain bubble that’s soaked in the millenial paranoid |
| Cloak of misty eye just maimed another bitchy quadrapeligic metaphor fairy |
| With math ten and a halftime scary |
| I’m riding out soul fishing cloud-killing field fodder |
| Fucked in the brainstem cadet of proletarian hemmorage modern steam |
| The sick is in the Pol-Pottery |
| Who kept the deco shards of the recipients to the snot box bombardment barrage |
| For what it’s worth the part is the human compartment of psycho arson collage |