(Verse 1)
yo, get your mothafuckin mitts off me
you can talk shit, but please talk your shit softly

hate mongering robots flop and commonly don't rock
get cleaned up, i'll use your sarcophagus as my soapbox

I'm Rick (Astley) with the hostages, never gonna give you up
mixing up the potions, Doc doing wizard stuff

sitting in a basement, looking at a flickering screen
hoping my time wasn't wasted , visiting dreams

of ripping stages, in digital ages
but the lyrical labors favor minimal wages

am I diggin my grave or am I friggin' amazin?
if not now then when's the conditional statement

not a teen, never shook off the angst
i could walk the plank but i took off and shrank

but then became the bigger man
Henry Pym would give him a standing o
like damn he pro, Moranis bro

(chorus)
Only rappers will like this
you don't have to be polite just tell the truth

(Verse 2)
ayo, faster than a photon
the penalty for messin wit the Zohan

is swift kicks to the cajones
from your opponents at the goal line
.do as the coach chimed and go the whole nine

i'm coming up with intelligent ways to phrase
and embellish the hellish displays that i imagine

when cabin fever has captured me whole
sapping my soul and the only way to fight back
is passionate prose

but a misappropriation of talent is shown
cuz rather than having the stones to battle oppressive forces

i be back at my home relaxing laughing at gore flicks
or, playing some game where magical orbs are thrown

and the graphic performance impresses my mom
happy she visits but she takes the stress when she's gone

.maybe she'll think this is one of my better songs
or maybe naw