Krusty’s Children lyrics

[Verse 1]
Alright, friends, you must be trippin
A bunch of wacky-ass clowns, are you Krusty's children?
That's hella great, one-two, man my stuff is wicked
Don't hestitate, kung-fu, I'mma bust these chickens
Must be the sickest, man, my throat is itching
Don't have a lotta policies, but I'm opposed to b*tching
I'm like a -- drug dealer, never closed to business
And I'm iller than a pillow of a hoe with syphilis
Even the childrens know the flow's ridiculous
Really though I'm really bored and I'm growing sick of it
The daily minefield, Lord of War like Nicholas
I'm going to spit whatever my tounge will hit me with
They say I'm crazy, that's a load of gibberish
Aw, you see a flaw and I'm supposed to give a sh*t?
Nah, Because I know that what I show is riveting
Am I the greatest, well, hold on, man, lemme think
I have to say, yes ma'am - affirmative
Even though my background screams that I am a white suburban kid
Listen to me and check those tight-ass words I spit
I'm not one to sit there, I'm defiantly stirring the mix
The school is out, but you're not over learning sh*t
And the sting of knowledge, son, it's going to burn just a bit
My soul is golden, you're not gold, you're silverish
So, riddle me this, who's the boldest villain there is?
That's me, I'm glad we agree
What can I say, man, gee, all you challengers flee
I'm like the RZA, mothaf*ckers, it's apalling to me
And you know what? I got no friends, you're all enemies
[Hook]
All you misognystic weirdo f*cks, talk about nothing but... f*cking b*tches, doing chicks , screwing females, banging babes, pounding girls, boning honeys, porking sl*ts and...
And that's just not my style, that's not my style, at all, wanna know why? Okay, I tell you why


[Verse 2]
'Cause I don't f*ck b*tches
I am more considerate - I hug b*tches
And ask them how their day went
Was it fun, b*tches?
I got heart beating so strong
That my lung itches
I'm such a gentleman
Her c*nt twitches
I am a hunter-gatherer so really f*ck fridges
I roll a fatty and I burn it - you're in motherf*cking luck, briges
Life's a b*tch and the sl*t's frigid
And f*ck Death, 'cause she isn't giving up the digits (Aha)
But this is it, man, I gotta live it
I'm like motherf*cking Earth, man, I gotta pivot
I will be winning for eternity not a minute
But not this moment, 'cause my stomach's
Got about a dozen bottles in him
And pretty soon, I be vomiting 'em
It's such a shame though, 'cause so much alcohol was in'em
A quick sneeze and I'm back on my feet, asking for weed
Take a puff and I'm back for dinner