Open Mic Nite, Pt. 1

Wow, wow, hey yeah, alright, man
That was great bYE! Get the
Fuck out of here that was
Nice cut his mic off, thank you i am
Back, I am your host, little
Willie B, representing the hood, god damn it
A little fat nigga who got money
So fuck you! Up next
We got the open mic poetry event
The fifteenth
Annual, sponsored by motherfucking Valentine
Cross Country Clothing
And a lot of wack shit that the hood will
Not wear anymore we got my man
Up first his name is Sambuca
Give it up for Sambuca, y’all, come
On! The mic is here
Stupid! Come here Sambuca

This is the tone the tone that I speak
The voice the unheard voice of my people
Black white people purple
Yellow where do we stand
Or does it matter (I don't, goddammit)
Everyone we all, we all live the same
Pain of ignorance together
And all have been lost
And at the end we all need each other
(That's what I'm talking about, nigga)
And that is how it is
Everything goes in a circle (Wooo-wee)
So who are you to judge in whom’s who?
And who the hell is who?

Yeah, alright, right, cut, cut his mic
Cut his mic yeah, yeah, yeah, that was
Nice, brother alright
We got my man right here coming up on
The microphone his name is Dr moreau!

Yo, inebriated, packing a tool
Spin Doc Moreau, international
Svengali flew into county
Jacking a fool vict’
Watch the sack, harass shit, meet his DOOM
Fake coward just stays in homeroom, in the
Back of the school Cold War veteran
Iron Curtain over-the-wall defector
Authentic aeronautic agility to avoid
The enemy motion detectors
On the other side of fear is freedom
Charismatic persona made conspicuous
By his absence spoke French fluently with a
High-pitched German accent
"Sont les mots qui vont très bien ensemble"
Answer the pop reverence
With plain slanguage, mix it with Pig Latin
Push the sizzle
My crizzle organic perfecters
Kind of like Ma$e and Macy Gray
Sounding a little retarded
But still infectious
Favorite pastime: attacking the
Righteously impaired
Attach his back to a lithium battery
Juicing him up
Keeping him fat between delusions of grandeur
And his own feelings of inadequacy
Exposing the proletariat hordes who
Roll with more
Funny style Brothers than the Wayans
Irresistible force
Immovable object communicating with
Prophets and original natives
South American Mayans
Who utilize ancient secret ether
Breathing techniques to
Raise their ki like Super Saiyans
These are trained guerrillas not found
In the circus but every
Occupation from aviation to cocaine dealers
Descended from scriptures, Biblical
Critically acclaimed thrillers
Known to sniff codeine
Desensitized to errything
Stay addicted to painkillers
Professional brain-spillers

Willie B: Aw shit! You know
It’s on! We got my
Man without the encyclopedia! His name
Is Louis Logic! Holla!
Louis Logic: Come on! Come on!
Yeah, yeah, check, check, yo

I used to be a loudmouth back before
I turned into a loud jerk
Crowd-surfing into chicks with
Big tit's mouth-first
I’ve been looking down shirts
Since I was young prince of the drunk
Swimming in drums of cinnamon rum (Woohoo)
Isn’t it fun when you piss on
A punk in a contest that isn’t supposed to
Elevate beyond threats?
Y’all bitches just come to measure dicks?
Fuck all of that nonsense
I already got stoned, i’m getting sticks
If names don’t hurt you, I may just murk you
Slay the first dude out too late for curfew
And in case you heard Lou’s a bad sport
You’ll get a crash course in getting your
Ass kicked if you ask for it
How about a passport to a nice, little place
The landlord describes as a boot
Right in your face?
Fuck the games i won’t just smudge your name
I’ll feed you your own nuts today
If you like bitter taste