Feeding

This conversation's been going on for hours

Keep talking and talking and talking and talking

Have you ever noticed the effect of mind powers

Mute talking and talking and talking and talking

George Bush sponsored Osama bin Laden

Keep insisting, insisting, insisting, insisting

Aw man, I have so many problems

Keep talking and talking and talking and talking

They keep sniffing

I keep thinking, enough

Why we had to go through that

Could've sniffed enough yay to get my Pro Tools back

Man, this bitch has some huge ass cans

So simple, simple, simple, simple

I wanna fuck this bitch with my whole hand

So nasty and nasty and nasty and nasty

Man, I want this chick to give me mad brain

Keep talking and talking and talking and talking

We should lick a chick and run the damn train

So slimy, slimy, slimy, slimy

You damn sickos

We got sisters, you fuck

How we get so off track?

Should've got our mind right and got our Pro Tools back

All them cheesecakes and them huge ass dinner plates

All them damn pizzas and mayonnaise on steaks

Man, this diet talk, Susan's summer water loss

More than Miami male only eating steamed moss

A figure eight sauce to keep all the weight off

Might cause tremors or some type of slight cough

Or you can kick it more, dressed like a college whore

Buy all your meals at the damn weight store

So hungry that you even eat doors

Even eat humans and gum off floors

Instead of exercise little more

Eat your way out of overeating even acorns

I have no idea why I'm so fat

Keep eating and eating and eating and eating

Ding Dongs, Diet Coke, and loud breathing

Keep feeding and feeding and feeding and feeding

That four blocks is too far away

Keep driving and driving and driving and driving

I do pilates and yoga everyday

Keep talking and talking and talking and talking

We're so obese

It's real nasty and sick

I'm surprised we don't break the Earth

Instead of buying ice creams and get our Pro Tools first

All these rap takes and thousand dollar of beat tapes

And whole rap songs of how much the rap makes

All these rap fakes Frosted Flakes

The whole game's like a fat kid eating pound cakes

Rap business plan, teach the kids to send spam

Profit anyway you can, rules in this land

I don't care if you got to sell a pig ham

I don't care if you sell a girl to a man

All this rap shit is so bland

I recall days when fellas would lend a helping hand

Now it's embarrassing to be a hip hop fan

Seems as the whole game's run by the damn Klan

Man, this rap shit is out of control

Keep rapping and rapping and rapping and rapping

Actor thugs with guns and good clothes

Keep talking and talking and talking and talking

Or some speeches about "Man, rap's dead"

So snobby, they snobby, they snobby, they snobby

Land some shit over everybody's head

So boring and boring and boring and boring

We'll have the rules on

Karaoke, emcees

Save your receipt for that

If there's still the thirty days, take your Pro Tools back