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Junk Food

from Aim Less by The Mispronouncer

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lyrics

Intro: Real rappers get shot and they kick the bucket.
I sprained my right elbow playing kick the can.
So what does that make me? Does it mean I can’t cut it?
I’d rather stick to my tricks than try to stick it to the Man.

1. Junk Food for thought. It really sticks to the ribs.
Rhyme a trite platitude and kids flip their lids.
Hit the skids at a dead run. Wallow in the mess, son.
A spoon full of stupid helps them swallow all the medicine.
Undiluted substance goes down so bitter.
Wrap it in rap song, duds won’t bicker.
If they say, “You’ll go far,” then you’ll probably go alone
And they’ll complain that you’ve changed when you finally go home.
I know that it’s important that we all agree to pretend
All weekends don’t just whimper to weak ends.
But they do. It’s a difficult truth
Like some psychopaths had a typical youth.
Go on and pet that mouse right back to life.
Dumb recognize Dumb and then asks advice.
This is a public display of affectation.
Put the cart before the horse and people marvel at your innovation

Chorus: Sing a hook, sing a hook, ‘cause it’s that time.
If it just fills space, well that’s just fine.
If it’s clever they won’t notice that it’s also asinine.
It’s shallow and it’s hollow and it’s petty by design.
Your mistake is believing it’s inane by mistake.
It’s inherent in the medium. I’m feedin’ ‘em the bait.
And then I set the hook. And then the switch goes through.
Nerd rap is all pseudo-intelligent, thought I told you.

Bridge: Crawlin’ through the Hallowed Halls of Learnin’
You got the yearnin’ to get a little look behind the curtain.
But duck, flee ‘cause you can’t un-see
The slums where the tongues of the dumb run free.
The rhyming is icing, the beat is a smoke screen.
Impressed ‘cause you can’t figure out what the jokes mean.
It’s a house of cards, folks, please don’t touch.
I’m saying next to nothing but it means so much.

2. I am the greatest criminal mastermind to never commit a crime.
If you wanna seize the moment then you’d better get in line.
Offered my opinion, got change for my two cents.
We’d be see-through if we weren’t too dense.
Y’all are too tense: burning intellects, cold hearts.
Lines that I write might sting but they don’t smart.
Those sharp insights are only useful if you want punctures.
Think about this: what’s dumber?
An idiot talking politics or an expert barking nonsense?
Inspire confidence like: I rap man, I got this.
All Rorschach tests just look like amoebas.
We’re the Emperors New Scholars. If you see us, you’re a genius.
There’s nothing worth saying but I don’t let it get to me.
I’m the Great Grand Whatever of Specificity.
Aspire to pursue the skills you ain’t best at.
Why should the Devil have all the braindead rap?

Chorus: Sing a hook, sing a hook, ‘cause it’s that time.
If it just fills space, well that’s just fine.
If it’s clever they won’t notice that it’s also asinine.
It’s shallow and it’s hollow and it’s petty by design.
Your mistake is believing it’s inane by mistake.
It’s inherent in the medium. I’m feedin’ ‘em the bait.
And then I set the hook. And then the switch goes through.
Nerd rap is all pseudo-intelligent, thought I told you.

credits

from Aim Less, released August 9, 2010
The Mispronouncer made the beat.
The Mispronouncer wrote the words.
The Mispronouncer and Baby performed the vocals.
Dr. Occulus played the bass guitar.

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The Mispronouncer Redlands, California

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