Anal Thermometer - The O

I be the G and the plan is to slam, damn

That I can, biff bam, Batman, Robin steady mobbin' c’mon

G be the man, slammin, you say psalms with your moms

And you home playing Backgammon

Mom left me dressed up, but messed up

With my hair combed nicely, but I was shiesty

At any given time there might be liquor in my ice tea

Always yelling in my ear «Drugious, play nicely»

Now I’m on the mic see, my mental style wild child

To the file I’ll spit the vile in the pile

That’ll make the girls smile, make a German «Sieg Heil»

Unlike Spark Lyle, I’ll be here for a while

People want to know yo, how’d you get so loco

Head want to know who to thank for my flow, son

I’m saying «Oh, can’t be quite sure»

Link with my shrink 'cause I think she know who knows

Hey mom (yes, dear)

Thanks for the anal thermometer

I be the illest, microphone ventriloquist

Brothers say he real with this

Got the the feel for this (yeah, yeah)

Use to have a drug problem thinking

How am I going to pay for this

But now the record company gets the bill, so I’m chill

Get my fill getting ill with the pill or the swill

Every brain cell I kill, I regenerate a mill

What the deal yo, with the way I fell so much stress

Why, it was my sperm on Monica’s dress

I confess, more or less, that the west is the best

Ain’t that right, Ry (psyche) both coasts' what I like

When I was younger and in school

My teacher grabeed my pad and pen

He’s insane, he’s a fool

Said you better try again

Now you take all of the teachers from

kindergarten to the 12th grade that I ever had ever

Put them in a room, empty your pockets, you may be clever

But I’m making more than all ya’ll teachers put together

On stage all the girlies nipples in the crowd got check

(Woo hah) got you all erect

And when they asking the G how’d you get so twisted

I twitch but I’m calm, don’t ask me, ask my mom

Hey mom (yes, dear)

Thanks for the anal thermometer

The scent of Vaseline, it’ll make me scream

Like I’m in a bad dream like a fiend screen scene

With the theme from Halloween, know what I mean

Mr. Clean seems to gleam

'Til he ream then his misdamean my spleen

Causing my rage to beam, lyrical machine

Like a white Rakim, so don’t tell me to go to hell

Chi-double-L tha’s be the way to Quell

My uncertainty, not by hurting me, hell

You don’t gotta stick no nothing all up in my butt

To find out how I feel, girl, just say yo what’s up

Don’t tell me you love me

Then bend me and fuck

Don’t bend me and fuck me

Then tell me that you love me true