The Former Fat Boys - You're An Extra lyrics

Round one, round two I promised you I'd rap to this Round one, round two Once upon a time in an MP3 There lived a Montel Jordan wannabe: bozworthy He talked hop and rapped low Raps all quiet so his mom don't know I know audio so here's a tip from a pro Project a little louder in your microphone Because your attacks a little timid I can read the signs Recording in your secret You have the same childhood as mine Grab a Sunny D getting of the bus Close the door to your room so your mom won't see you cuss It's cool I understand being in grade twelve I look at you like Marty McFly seeing his younger self Time war promise you won't be catching me I'm in baseball cards you s** back in little league I'm 64 you're only Mario 3 Even with a whistle you can't get to the same level as me [Hook] Round one, round two First aftermath, now I'm going to beat you Two hiphop heads you rap like ship Said you did spoken word? Should've stuck with it Because your hop ain't hip I'm giving you this tip On my radar, little B, you ain't even a blip I'm saying Neal Star You're like an extra like your dad in Jura**ic Park 3 Someone hold me back, hold me back Because I'm going to beat this kid until he's blue AND black Speaking of black I guess it's a fact that every black dude on the planet can't rap You don't know, whoa, I played the race thing [?] how's my semen tasting? I'm jerking off like I'm DWB We're beyond the year like I'm John F Kerry Why you need extension? Why you need more time? Got to flip through your books to find more words to rhyme? You're like Superman can't see your way through me I'm lead [?] shaking his head Don't come at me You and your slam poems going to bore me to d**h? Kid, you're out of your league That's some nice thesaurus-ing Kid you got your books? Well I got mine too, but the beats alluding you I got looks and hooks You're mumbling I can't understand what you say My Tolstoy s** it, pompous a** Round two, I'm off to round three Lord knows the finals won't be bozworthy Hang off your Timbalands you can't get a track And I did it all with the Backstreet beats Come at me with your roots Come at me your boots It really ain't no use Ain't no match for me