(Hook)
Yo, it hurts less in the chest and the throat
And mo' in the sides and the back (x2)
[Verse 1: Dratchface]
I never look a gift horse in the mouth
I'm devout, I'm a philosophical roundhouse
Prayin every goddamn day it'll get betta fo' me
Revenge wracking my mind, got a vendetta, homie
Hold on, don't touch that dial
And don't touch the mic while I bust that style
Got a pigeon nose and a muskrat smile
Rhymes too dirty like "Uh, that's vile"
Tactile tasks mastered, abashedly backward
The kind of guy who'd use the same phrase for all his pa**words
See, I'm back to screamin like that kid from Stratford
I'm past plastered, reciting lyrics from ba*tard
I got dumped the summer before the last one
And got so mad I made three hip-hop albums
(Hook)
I got so mad, I got so mad, I got so f**in' mad