| We in Steel Tipped Dove’s dojo, the mi-, the mic is hot
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| Scallops Hotel is the building
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| Four walls and a ceiling
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| No matter the— uh
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| No matter the— uh
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| No matter the— uh
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| Opened a roller derby in Scholomance
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| Since we living in hell might as well do the Shmoney Dance
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| Hold my train, I can’t simply be the Running Man
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| I mean, I’m in the running, man
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| Foil decoy, Leonard Nimoy in scorching sands
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| Billy Shatners, silly bastards usurped upon their own shores
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| I prefer leisure to my house chores
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| But I like to drink from clean cups, life is mean, it sucks
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| I mush my face in the tension like a newly-cleaned rug
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| Do you think a bazooka is a gun? |
| Or a tablet writ poem?
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| The modem is totem pole, wrote this rap post-coitus, cuddle-roll
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| Muggle befuddle what he doesn’t know
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| And can you blame him? |
| And can you blame him?
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| Muggle befuddle what he doesn’t know
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| And can you blame him? |
| Can you blame him?
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| I’ll leave him in the dark regardless
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| Muggle befuddle what he doesn’t know
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| Rely on that, rely on that
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| Scallops Hotel is the— Yeah |