Grayskul, Aesop Rock - Not Going Anywhere lyrics

Laughter hee hee hee!

Bah humbug, We in control of the grid
Because you haven't got a clue and we
Do so we did so rid
You of your duties, persist we will
Me and Ninjaface with this AR
Wardrobe dressed to kill
We best at skill, we ill
We say all our rhymes we thrill
We drop the jaw like Kanye and Fitty
We off the wall, we fly, we cover the wild
We calm, we eat, we walk, we take no pity
No mercy we're makin' you
Say Uncle like Shadow
As we twist and turn our cursive like
A game of quidditch with an animal
We lost you but we got you back
By gradually holding this fort down
Annual, continuous, heads on the mantle
Perhaps you're a fan of
Trophies, turbo nerds, and pretty ladies
Perhaps you and your man will
Run the laps comparing babies
Perhaps either is what is needed
To complete this anecdote
To fight that squeamish feeling most
Music be fuckin' leavin'

Not even would a burner to the face
Pose enough to scare a crow as Little Bobby
No matter how much the
Game might have changed
Show no pity Little Billy, give 'em Godly

Yeah, I figured how to style on 'em
Fresh dripping Krylon
While plagiaristic peasants emulate
My killer flow
Quicker toes to sling the sidearm
These ghosts to me's the bygones
Promote the loathsome demons watch a
Legion of them grow
But your allegiance to the Skul
Could mean a murder to a crow
Gallows where vultures roam
From the zenith I perspect the fearing soul
As it appears these humans gloat
The unexpected start to choke on
Their own ropes and decompose
Ya face feeders, stereo receiving creature
With a pocket full of ether and
A roach for Misses Cleaver
Yeah my yeti haskell-like demeaner
Had her acting like it's Easter
Dripping wet between her femurs
These common aliens 'll make
You firm believers turn a bitter melon gold
To mortify an Ebenezer
A quarter full of gold to toll
The souls to greet the reaper
Here's a thousand skulls beheaded mortals
Take me to your leader

Not even would a burner to the face
Pose enough to scare a crow as Little Bobby
No matter how much the
Game might have changed
Show no pity Little Billy, give 'em Godly

Uh, What misfortune befalls?
What crawls from the drain?
Dissolves in his aim?
Plus awkward spreaders out of
Spider silk crosshairs christ
Cross skip outmoded with the lost years
Far away from puking with
Facials and unicorn tears
All black storms over children
Of the cornfield
Marching, Mondays mostly morbid
Within the confines of a sloping forehead
I was into it all gussied up
Play to win and aimed his chins up and up
Belly over belt he put the 'must' in smut
Son of aceline is statistically impossible
Yet never misses holidays and
Visit's in the hospitals
Meanwhile feverishly Windexing his monocle
To study all the missionaries
Picnicking in productville
Might just recommend a little shuteye
Before we bring the future
To you motherfucking Luddites

Not even would a burner to the face
Pose enough to scare a crow as Little Bobby
No matter how much the
Game might have changed
Show no pity Little Billy, give 'em Godly