| Yo welcome to Actual Factual Pterodactyl
|
| We in the NASDAQ, we in the
|
| FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD
|
| CORNBALLERS AND BUSTERS
|
| Fresh off that nourishment been trying to give y’all vitamins, minerals
|
| You know what I’m saying, riboflavorings so check this out we got some
|
| FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD
|
| NIGHTCRAWLERS AND HUSTLERS
|
| My both hands write day and night and might strike at any time
|
| Me demigod divine
|
| Rewind that
|
| My divine designers where y’all at?!
|
| Me bump and grind
|
| My grinding grimy
|
| Sleep deprived decrying the crimes
|
| Any rhyme that he write hit you right in the eye
|
| This tree of life me a climb till I’m nine-hundred and ninety-nine
|
| Out my mind
|
| Eloping with my bride
|
| L.M.N.O.P
|
| Redefine the fine science of the melody
|
| Magnifying your finite capabilities
|
| Me and tribe derived from the wisemen that plotted Orion’s rise
|
| Realize my pedigree
|
| And whoever bred him done fed him amphetamines
|
| Dead center of the epicenter yelling obscenities
|
| Somebody’s selling CDs
|
| Yes indeed
|
| NOW THROW YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR
|
| IF NAYSAYERS IS TRYNA RAID YOUR FRIGIDAIRE FOR
|
| FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD
|
| CORNBALLERS AND BUSTERS
|
| NOW THROW YOUR HANDS IN THE SKY
|
| IT’S QUEENS' FINEST FORTIFIED SO FORM A LINE FOR
|
| FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD
|
| NIGHTCRAWLERS AND HUSTLERS
|
| My eyes keen and sharp
|
| My iris eating reading Marx
|
| I even barf
|
| Uneven bars
|
| I clean and crease and bleach and starch
|
| Starship sarge
|
| Jean Paul Sartre
|
| In control cajoling Joans of Ark
|
| Beware golden arches
|
| St. Ides
|
| And the Ides of March
|
| I’ve spread ten thousand thighs apart
|
| Y’all front hard and hardly are
|
| Foolhardy bark
|
| Hardy har
|
| My top priority; |
| art
|
| Cats playing parts already are in ER
|
| I get on mark and harmony harm
|
| Melody mar
|
| Car tunes
|
| Not Pixar
|
| Many artist’s arses charred by the darn tootin darts that I discharge
|
| NOW THROW YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR
|
| IF NAYSAYERS IS TRYNA RAID YOUR FRIGIDAIRE FOR
|
| FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD
|
| CORNBALLERS AND BUSTERS
|
| NOW THROW YOUR HANDS IN THE SKY
|
| IT’S QUEENS' FINEST FORTIFIED SO FORM A LINE FOR
|
| FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD
|
| NIGHTCRAWLERS AND HUSTLERS
|
| My both balls swing low
|
| As sweet chariots
|
| Cheerio
|
| In stereo
|
| High ho the derry o
|
| Since infant I’s an impresario
|
| And you can bump my bars in the barnyard or the barrio
|
| I’m not a normal mofo
|
| I throw 'bows, blow loads
|
| And sow wild oats
|
| And turned down more snow than the Poconos almost
|
| Not in my nose
|
| So many cornballs I need a silo
|
| My cyanide Mt. Sinai couldn’t diagnose
|
| And I been a psycho since I’s a a zygote
|
| My goals are my growth not my gross
|
| Rock Homeboy Sand tees and also polos
|
| Y’all Os and tre ochos sound so pitiful
|
| Yeah
|
| NOW THROW YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR
|
| IF YOUR SOCKS MATCH AND YOU’RE WEARING CLEAN UNDERWEAR
|
| SAY YEAH
|
| NOW PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE SKY
|
| IF YOU UNSIGNED 'CAUSE YOU WON’T RHYME ABOUT HOMOCIDE
|
| SAY YEAH |