Wisdumb - (Memories)

Call me 'Kanye West Anderson,' dammit man
Go and get a mammogram, banana hammock, and a tan to match
I'm candid eating candied bacon, reading Voltaire
I've got gall, not gallstones, don't believe the long hair
Tall tale tellers 'till they turn tale, it's the trifecta
High stepping, fly women, and the gods with them
I'm kidding, life's what you make it, so die living
Sorry, that was corny, you're immortal I'm a fly in the
Ointment, feeling ornery? Should have made an appointment
With the orthodontist, call me unorthodox
But when I get these braces off, shit's gon be poppin'
Gotcha! Got some cots for sale, fifty cents a cap
50 Cent got eight caps in his fake ass, and a Maybach
But he rented that, where the dentist at?
Need some whitening toothpaste, and golden goose eggs
Silver foie gras, my god, catch me on my iPod
Listening to Funkadelic and Shabaz Palaces
Catch me name dropping, you're a phallic shaped offspring
Date Jake Gosling, Ryan Gillenhal
Happy holidays, mold rod and some hollandaise
I'm a saucy lad, but the girls never call me back
Probably 'cuz I'm so disrespectful they don't like that
Shouting "Nice ass!" While I bike past
Can't drive like that Lance guy, steroids in my backside
That's why my tesiticles are the size of my vestibule
Joke's on you! 'Cuz I don't have a vestibule
You're the only less than two that's getting through to my head
Present tense excluded, we did it, we'll do it out of kindness
Kindred spirit, we're all the same kind of delirious
Dog, is you serious? Do you hear these lyrics?
I'm a fucking flaming Phoenix with a blazing penis
Riding on a centaur with a wizard mentor
Screaming Jay-Z lyrics, taste these tears, it's salty
Haters fucking Lawry's, had to look that up
On the urban diction-ary, snarky, biding my time
That's malarkey, dated reference, BETA testing
For the Barclays, ask if they like my music
They say "Hardly," ah geez...

Never call me Jadakiss, call me what you make of it
Call me what you want, just never call me late for shit
I'm a mega-nerd, hater on a BETA fling
Driving on his way to work, smoking on his way to vote
Rolling on everything, but his face, way to go
Way to be... Way up on the radio
Never make it obvious, make it with some phosphorus
Make it with a couple pretty girls that are top-a-less
I'm a just, go and do it perfectly, go and be a vertebrae
All I do is erre-thing, erre-day, anyway
All I do is nothing right, that's just what my parents think
Maybe there's some truth in that, maybe there's some carrot cake
Rapping with my man-o-ray, call him 'T.O.M.C.'
Haters be Las Vegas in a state of envy
In a state of fuckery, in a state of muggelry
Mudbloods snuffing what we running 'B'
Running 'round, running game, like it's drugs, underground
Talking whack, talking smack, talking up a racket kid
Askin' "Is... that that good shit?" We ain't sure man
This rap shit is sick, yeah, we ain't cure man
We just evidence, rock solid brethren
Breathing on tracks 'till we get the gist, get it kid
Get it right, and forever, or don't get it at all

Written by:
Giovanni Quattrochi, Thomas Costello

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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