| and he is, as they say, wild and crazy
 | 
| As a composer, arranger, and producer
 | 
| He’s exploring it all
 | 
| From the furthest reaches of musical outer space
 | 
| To the most down to earth funk
 | 
| And he sounds, well, he sounds exactly like this
 | 
| Nobody 'members those
 | 
| Rap City episodes from twenty years ago
 | 
| When you were the guest host
 | 
| Past history, let it go Get off on a medical
 | 
| Pack a duffle bag with all your wrinkled clothes and pedal home
 | 
| Get a little dictaphone and sit alone
 | 
| In the middle of the room and let it flow
 | 
| Wouldn’t it be better
 | 
| If you went and chose a new career path
 | 
| Like a shepherd or a flight attendant on an aircraft?
 | 
| You’re pitiful, a pollywog
 | 
| Tiny fishy in a smaller pond
 | 
| Holding barbie dolls and leftover beads from the Mardi Gras
 | 
| Actin hella hard but that’s just poppycock
 | 
| 'Cause inside you’re hella soft like a Jolly Rancher lollypop
 | 
| I’ll give you cauliflower ears stupid
 | 
| You’re weird
 | 
| Feelin blue
 | 
| On a stool somewhere, two-fisting beers
 | 
| At a Hofbrau
 | 
| Moaning like a hot cow
 | 
| Cryin on the shoulder of some old man you met just now
 | 
| I’m smarter than you
 | 
| I’m harder than you
 | 
| I’m better than you
 | 
| I’m just raw
 | 
| I’m hotter than you
 | 
| More popular than you
 | 
| More clever than you
 | 
| And goshdarn it, people like me
 | 
| I’m smarter than you
 | 
| I’m harder than you
 | 
| I’m better than you
 | 
| I’m just raw
 | 
| I’m hotter than you
 | 
| More popular than you
 | 
| More clever than you
 | 
| And goshdarn it, people like me Look I’m sorry, mate
 | 
| This is awkward, k?
 | 
| Little hard to say
 | 
| So I’ll just say it Me and your mommy date
 | 
| She’s awfully great
 | 
| She’s a soft seatmate (?)
 | 
| She calls me late
 | 
| Always wants to meet
 | 
| On her coffee breaks
 | 
| She bought me seats
 | 
| To Bonnie Raitt
 | 
| Now there’s no concrete date
 | 
| But she bought the ring
 | 
| It’s Marjorie May (?)
 | 
| And my stockings stink
 | 
| From my foot up in your ass
 | 
| 'Cause you drive me absolutely batty
 | 
| See I’m crabby when you get around me Tell me who’s your daddy
 | 
| Call me Mister McAffee, your poop-deck pappy
 | 
| Shut your trap and get back in the backseat of the Camry
 | 
| Don’t sass me or I’ll backhand you
 | 
| smack you with an axe-handle
 | 
| Burn you with a wax candle
 | 
| Slap you with a sandle
 | 
| I’m trying to watch the rap channel
 | 
| Can’t you tell we laugh about you?
 | 
| Call yourself a rapper but I gives a rat’s ass about you
 | 
| Why do I even bother with these Hoff-brand cats
 | 
| Y’all are wombats man
 | 
| I’m bout to blow this pop stand
 | 
| Lyrically y’all don’t compare to me in any contest
 | 
| Like a stealth bomber up against a Hyundai Accent
 | 
| Tall-can to a shot glass
 | 
| Bong-hit to a contact
 | 
| Gary Coleman versus Big Boss Man
 | 
| The Loch Ness Monster up against a crawdad
 | 
| Talking Sly Stallone in Rocky versus Sly Stallone in Copland
 | 
| Judge Judy versus Johnny Cohcran
 | 
| Oh man
 | 
| Nell Carter versus Karen Carpenter topless
 | 
| Better yet, Broadband
 | 
| Compared to a long ass
 | 
| Piece of string connecting two pop cans
 | 
| It’s all bad
 | 
| Don’t quit your job at all believe me you’ll be so glad back
 | 
| Hold on with both hands
 | 
| It’s sucks washing sauce pans
 | 
| I know there’s an off chance that one day hip-hop heads
 | 
| Will maybe feel rappers in the top-ten that crossdress
 | 
| Ever since his triumphant return from his first album, L.T.D.
 | 
| Critics are calling (Lyrics Born) the brightest new star in years
 | 
| (Same Shit, Different Day) is his new album, on his own label
 | 
| And it’s got the kind of top talent (Lyrics Born) always surrounds himself with
 | 
| Here’s a sample of what they’re raving about |