Freshy Kanal - Patrick Bateman vs. Sweeney Todd (feat. LittleFlecks, The Stupendium, Meggie-Elise) lyrics
Freshy Kanal
Gregory J. Holgate
[Freshy Kanal - Patrick Bateman vs. Sweeney Todd feat. LittleFlecks, The Stupendium, Meggie-Elise lyrics]
There's a hole in the world
And a fake Brad Pitt
Puttin' holes into girls
Leave 'em slain and split
'Cause there's holes in his brain
That no payment can fix
And he goes by the name of Bateman
This oaf of a broker
Couldn't sell his persona
Only see this banker compensating
When work's over
Turpin kept his bird caged in, secure
Still I've never known a toff so insecure
You and my razor are the same in effect
Except my blade is sharp when it's
A pain in the neck
I'd say look back at your mistakes
Because you're making a mess
But, I'm sure that reflection would
Get Master Bateman erect
I'm trying to listen to the
New Freshy Kanal tape
But this fucking limey won't stop
Shouting in my ear
I'm gonna stab a Tim Burden to death
Until I taste Sweeney Toddler tears
I'm Patrick Bateman
I take it you'll understand
If I keep my gloves on
When I'm shaking your hand
You reek of disease and
Live in people's feces
And yet you're the biggest shit that
I've seen on Fleet Street
Do you cut your own hair? I can tell
Michael Jackson's "Thriller" monster's
Alive and well
Innocent, but spent half your life in jail
I'm not behind a cell 'cause I got Bale
That's your wife that you severed and carved
'Cause, you're a terrible barber
'til death do us part
Stupid fucking bastard
You didn't get very far
Now let's hear Paul Allen's bars
(What I've done?)
Paul Allen?
Oh, I had him for dinner in Londo-
Oh, I mean, I had dinner with him in London
Ay? Hush now, love: don't fret or whine
Why don't you get inside?
Sweeney, set aside a chair and get a knife
Let's let him dine!
We better write "sweet and sigma
Sauce" onto the menu signs
For when I make a Wolf of
Wall Street a shepherd's pie
But, I can't put this guy's
Heart into my tarts, 'cause I might barf
Quite bizarre!
This businessman doesn't fit on a pie chart
Oh, you hate women and the
Homeless? We're the same
'Cause, I loathe that looney Lucy who'd
Soon take my Todd away
You knew my wife lived?
There's only you to blame! Next to Patrick
You're second here to be reduced to flames!
As for Bruce Wayne, tell
Your lawyer you're defeated, bruv
I hope, your second verse features you as
Much as your sequel does!
I'm like Perelli how I up
And beat a wimpy kid
Now the oven is the only place
That you'll be fitting in
Oh my God
A musical that's set in the 19th century
It even features themes of
Class struggle and poverty?
How profoundly unique
And look at that subtle all-white casting
Shut down Lovett's love that she forced on ya
Kept your feelings more reserved than Dorsia
And now your lady's deceased
And she's plagued with disease
Watch me show a barber's wife
A better facial routine
Take out your blades!
Let the stage see who's greater! Either way
You'll end up with your
Fuckin' face in newspapers!
There's an idea of Sweeney Todd
But he's all Barker, no bite
Just a husk of the fraud
Who lost his child, WIFE, aND LIFE!
Now I've got to return some videotapes
And a fake Brad Pitt
Puttin' holes into girls
Leave 'em slain and split
'Cause there's holes in his brain
That no payment can fix
And he goes by the name of Bateman
This oaf of a broker
Couldn't sell his persona
Only see this banker compensating
When work's over
Turpin kept his bird caged in, secure
Still I've never known a toff so insecure
You and my razor are the same in effect
Except my blade is sharp when it's
A pain in the neck
I'd say look back at your mistakes
Because you're making a mess
But, I'm sure that reflection would
Get Master Bateman erect
I'm trying to listen to the
New Freshy Kanal tape
But this fucking limey won't stop
Shouting in my ear
I'm gonna stab a Tim Burden to death
Until I taste Sweeney Toddler tears
I'm Patrick Bateman
I take it you'll understand
If I keep my gloves on
When I'm shaking your hand
You reek of disease and
Live in people's feces
And yet you're the biggest shit that
I've seen on Fleet Street
Do you cut your own hair? I can tell
Michael Jackson's "Thriller" monster's
Alive and well
Innocent, but spent half your life in jail
I'm not behind a cell 'cause I got Bale
That's your wife that you severed and carved
'Cause, you're a terrible barber
'til death do us part
Stupid fucking bastard
You didn't get very far
Now let's hear Paul Allen's bars
(What I've done?)
Paul Allen?
Oh, I had him for dinner in Londo-
Oh, I mean, I had dinner with him in London
Ay? Hush now, love: don't fret or whine
Why don't you get inside?
Sweeney, set aside a chair and get a knife
Let's let him dine!
We better write "sweet and sigma
Sauce" onto the menu signs
For when I make a Wolf of
Wall Street a shepherd's pie
But, I can't put this guy's
Heart into my tarts, 'cause I might barf
Quite bizarre!
This businessman doesn't fit on a pie chart
Oh, you hate women and the
Homeless? We're the same
'Cause, I loathe that looney Lucy who'd
Soon take my Todd away
You knew my wife lived?
There's only you to blame! Next to Patrick
You're second here to be reduced to flames!
As for Bruce Wayne, tell
Your lawyer you're defeated, bruv
I hope, your second verse features you as
Much as your sequel does!
I'm like Perelli how I up
And beat a wimpy kid
Now the oven is the only place
That you'll be fitting in
Oh my God
A musical that's set in the 19th century
It even features themes of
Class struggle and poverty?
How profoundly unique
And look at that subtle all-white casting
Shut down Lovett's love that she forced on ya
Kept your feelings more reserved than Dorsia
And now your lady's deceased
And she's plagued with disease
Watch me show a barber's wife
A better facial routine
Take out your blades!
Let the stage see who's greater! Either way
You'll end up with your
Fuckin' face in newspapers!
There's an idea of Sweeney Todd
But he's all Barker, no bite
Just a husk of the fraud
Who lost his child, WIFE, aND LIFE!
Now I've got to return some videotapes