Mike Myers Songtext
von Exchecker
Mike Myers Songtext
Spit spat cooking a spitroast chicken
Serge Prycin on the beat turns up the heat and hits the bitches
When Exchecker came on, you just sulked
Crowds go double and rappers get pulped
So don′t be offended if your shows drop attendance
The trend that you depended on just got ended
Whack MCs have never even heard a beat this funky
I'm spitting funky flows riding a man-sized trunky
46 shots and I might be getting drunky
Whilst your ex-man′s passed out on the stairs with a bottle of pear cider
I'm a sick sick writer and no MC can touch me like a korean on street fighter When I roll one up your girl hands me a lighter
I'm not Mr Whiter I turn into Mr Blonde
Got a can of gasoline with no sign of a bong
My drawers are all full of 60 girls thongs
Yours are overflowing with long plastic dongs
But seriously though, that′s what life′s about
A little bit of style and a little bit of class and a little bit of wild and a little bit of ass
I'm the last fucking ass-whooping ruling civilisation
You′re a dying breed sowing seeds for a grueling brutalisation
We've got limited time I′m using mine to rhyme
And if you're not on some funky shit it′s time to re-evaluate your mind
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
I'm in Wagner's School of Karate go harder than Moriarty
Turn up at the club like what′s all this malarky
The club gets shutdown I move one door down
And before you know it I′m the last MC in town
You drop dead when I slap heads like playdates
Your guy sees me out the window and knows he has to vacate
I get the studio free cos I only take two takes
One to make breaks and one to gyrate over
I'm the four leaf clover
To any label that decides that this trap rap is over
I knocked on a label′s door and they gave me a range rover
Just imagine what I could do if I was writing raps sober
To be honest though I'd throw that car in the ditch
′Cause you're only a little bitch if you care about being rich
I hang out with bitches whose daddies are fucking ripped
50% off at abercrombie and fitch
But if I can get funky to Serge Prycin′s spicy beats
And write lit bars that sound like a work from keats
Then I'll go halves on an island mansion retreat
Blam de blam blam blam and the goat goes bleat
No MC can come near I just chop ears like shakespeare met Van Gogh
No tories on my island you fascists can fuck off
Cos I'd rather have soul and save a space in the loft
Than put the whites on the parole and screw the blacks for the prof
Excheckaa
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Serge Prycin on the beat turns up the heat and hits the bitches
When Exchecker came on, you just sulked
Crowds go double and rappers get pulped
So don′t be offended if your shows drop attendance
The trend that you depended on just got ended
Whack MCs have never even heard a beat this funky
I'm spitting funky flows riding a man-sized trunky
46 shots and I might be getting drunky
Whilst your ex-man′s passed out on the stairs with a bottle of pear cider
I'm a sick sick writer and no MC can touch me like a korean on street fighter When I roll one up your girl hands me a lighter
I'm not Mr Whiter I turn into Mr Blonde
Got a can of gasoline with no sign of a bong
My drawers are all full of 60 girls thongs
Yours are overflowing with long plastic dongs
But seriously though, that′s what life′s about
A little bit of style and a little bit of class and a little bit of wild and a little bit of ass
I'm the last fucking ass-whooping ruling civilisation
You′re a dying breed sowing seeds for a grueling brutalisation
We've got limited time I′m using mine to rhyme
And if you're not on some funky shit it′s time to re-evaluate your mind
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
I'm in Wagner's School of Karate go harder than Moriarty
Turn up at the club like what′s all this malarky
The club gets shutdown I move one door down
And before you know it I′m the last MC in town
You drop dead when I slap heads like playdates
Your guy sees me out the window and knows he has to vacate
I get the studio free cos I only take two takes
One to make breaks and one to gyrate over
I'm the four leaf clover
To any label that decides that this trap rap is over
I knocked on a label′s door and they gave me a range rover
Just imagine what I could do if I was writing raps sober
To be honest though I'd throw that car in the ditch
′Cause you're only a little bitch if you care about being rich
I hang out with bitches whose daddies are fucking ripped
50% off at abercrombie and fitch
But if I can get funky to Serge Prycin′s spicy beats
And write lit bars that sound like a work from keats
Then I'll go halves on an island mansion retreat
Blam de blam blam blam and the goat goes bleat
No MC can come near I just chop ears like shakespeare met Van Gogh
No tories on my island you fascists can fuck off
Cos I'd rather have soul and save a space in the loft
Than put the whites on the parole and screw the blacks for the prof
Excheckaa
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Was that as good for you as it was for me
Writer(s): Exchecker Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
