Lyrics My Day At The Brain Factory - Oliver Hart

My Day At The Brain Factory

Yeah!
Right now you coolin' in the place to be with ME, the E-Y-E
Just wanna give a crazy shout-out to all the original Headshots
Shout to Paul Minneapolis.
Rest in peace to my man Sess
And uh, this just, you know, a little something I wrote… just a little
something for fun.
Check it out
I rhyme for the fuck of it what else would I do
I rhyme for the love of the excitement and juice
I rhyme for a lot of reasons but one reason that I rhyme
Is to remind you that I’m way better than you
I walk into the show, you know I’m the one
Challenge me if losing your life is your idea of fun
But think about it kid, you see me getting tooken
By some over-confident young buck, just turned twenty-one
Dumb dummy done drunk all the spiked punch
Mike ain’t no punk, I will never be nobody’s lunch
Step aside, You would never hit a fly
Check that pride 'fore I wreck your vibe
May I suggest a side
Of Prozac, with your Cognac?
Even though I know you know my flow equals your genocide
Betcha I getcha high
Identity amphetamine, Barbiturate adrenaline
Hallucinogenic opiate overdose, but I won’t let you die
I’ma hold you close 'til you recognize
Petrified, shocked, when I rock, all you wretched guys
Better get your gynecologist to polish up your pussy right
Cause I’ma stretch it wide open with this old crooked mic
You don’t sound alike or look alike if I’ma let you shook up my fan
I ain’t even guessing why
In my book a tight MC has many qualities
But you don’t qualify
So I owe you no apology for calling out the fact
That you couldn’t write this tight if God was your editor
Squashing Competitors, Shocked all my rhetoric
Clocked 'til I fill up the block Off the exit
To rock every sentence to mock
All the headers that invented to attended when I’m stepping off the stage
And instead of stepping up, they come an ask me for an autograph
And all that rapping in my face, they’re just a fan
I’m thinking
Great, Wait, I get the props When I tend to drop
I’m the center block On the Hip hop fiends
Listen, okay so a sadist comes up to me and says
«your fucking record sucks, it’s a piece of shit!»
(laughter and applause)