Shut Up, Man Songtext
von Das Racist feat. El‐P

[Kool AD]
Yes please, test me
Nestle chocolate mix con leche
Isabelle Allende, no comprender?
Fight niggas with djembes
White bitches with hair spray
Which way did he go? Slim Jim? Tempe?
Or Henny or Penny Lane or feather brain
Cheddar cane, leather interior range
Inferior Timothy Leary estranged
Theories are nearly insane, bleary eyed beardies
Whose gained sheerly by years of the same fears
It′s weird to the same ears whose careers
Is to aim spears at the gears in the chain
And weird to the ears of the lame squares
Of the gear and chain set who
Perusing their tame losers approvingly
Name truthers to losers of games blibbity blibbity blop
Hideous all bark, no bite Mama said, "Don't fight."
Papa say "Yeah, right."
Sister in the dark with a flashlight
I′m walking through the park in the lamp light
I'm a shark on the lamb with the land mines
Darts in the damn eye of the bull
The mouth is the eyes of the soul
The soul is the ass of the brain
The brain is the back of the train
Back of the bus, acting and such
Crack, discuss
Act with us, or
Pack it up, or
Slice the price to twice as nice and jack it up
Who gives a fuck what I'm talking bout? Walk it out
Knock em out the spot, let me talk it out
Do the wop, baseball bat, all that
Fall back, give a fuck about what you wanna call that


[Heems]
New school Terror Squad
Tarragon, terror gods
Little white bumps on gold keys
People act like they know me
Finna go back to the old me
People act like they know me
They say I act white, but sound black
But act black, but sound white
But what′s my sound bite supposed to sound like?
I think I sound aight
I sound tight
Ayo, don′t worry bout how I sound aight?
Wanna make enough to send to cousins in the motherland
And Planned Parenthood at home, which is my other land
Confused
Wish I had a hovercraft to crash, I'd love that man
My brother man said I could cop one for a hundred grand
A hundred grand is all I need
A hundred is enough for me
Enough for me to twist some weed
Make some funnies with my G′s
Some more money with my G's
Half a million in rupees
Ya′ll know Heems
I ain't bougie, dig my dookie if you feel like poopie
Addicted like kookie to pussy do something to me
Yo, my man
You ain′t funny, you Robin Williams, you got me all mad
If you doubt I spit fire you probably a drag
Mrs. Doubtfire, you probably all sad
Probably wack like Affleck in Hollywoodland
I probably would land
On American Bandstand
If I was from back then and not a tan man
It's Himanshu, who could it be
In that red Budweiser hat, who but me?
White dad swag, my seeds change the world
Don't have kids, you′re not that ill
Too much greed in the world

[El-P]
You can see hilarity ensue
Polarity rule truth
The street meat feed youth
The boogie men bend rules
Elite scene double breast monocle men move
When backroom blood boils, the ink dries quite smooth
Dim lights might prove, to bend eyesights oooh
Eyelines obscured, skyline′s removed
I'm fine, and you?
Fine like sinew
In arm outstretched
Inject in you
The flash mob holds hands, chants "we want food!"
Cargo bay loads, the drones just hit Mach 2
Burner hatch opens, the drone stops drops two
Like kumbaya bitches you flash us? flash you
Fuck us? Fuck that
Burn air, vaccuum
Now there′s a hot flash for that ass babe, achtung
Yeah I stay guerilla mouth pouncing the block, true
Come on it's the way of things, relax act cool
No habla Inglés, only hobble, break, disgrace
Kick punch run pause piss repeat delete trace
No option to talk it out, no route labeled ′escape'
Flame your fuzzy friend crunchy plus cuddle with hate
El-product plucking the little wings off your fly shit
Ants under the magnifier fry quick
Pinning back eyelids
Gaze upon the god that has subjected us
My whole squad′s Federal Reserve, no checking us