Wombaticus Rex - Minimum Wage lyrics

I'm sick of the same arguments, I'm sick of debates I'm sick of cynical rappers reading a list of complaints I'm sicker than I'm sick of mental midgets who say They're sicker than AIDS...and kick it like it's an original phrase I'm sick of cliches, getting bored with metaphors And the adolescent level of sk**s you settle for Minumum wage, average cats accept that But if you want the next sh**, then stop buying fresh crap If I really spoke my mind it would involve an interpreter And alter the curvature of the walls and the furniture I don't see dead people but they do read me poetry When I go to sleep, t-t-time to stop smoking weed I know exactly who I'm trying to reach By combining the science of beats with the mind of a priest I'm the father figure eight administrator The liquid laser...sh** I only make sense to physics majors Pissing off these christians cuz I'm doper than God Hold the applause -- I accept checks and Soviet bombs And if the Man comes knocking, just let him inside I got a few machetes to buy and I'm ready to die It's the vigilante...chasing chubby chicks in panties It's like I'm Santa how I'm handing out obituaries You got all the right equations to explain why you're not famous But face it....so does every waitress in Las Vegas I'm sick of the same arguments, I'm sick of debates I'm sick of cynical rappers reading a list of complaints I'm sicker than I'm sick of mental midgets who say They're sicker than AIDS...and kick it like it's an original phrase I'm sick of cliches, getting bored with metaphors And the adolescent level of sk**s you settle for Minumum wage, average cats accept that But if you want the next sh**, then stop buying fresh crap And that's the difference, little league versus rap olympics You're a cover band, I'm an established business You're wasting your life, and I'm trained to strangle the mic So let me make sure that I'm explaining it right: You're big city nothing, I'm small town famous You dress up like a rapper, I just run around naked You call women b**hes, then get nervous and ignore 'em But I'm the kinda guy who holds the door open for 'em You sock puppets talk about the guns you don't have I don't talk about all the guns I do have, true facts And it's the cypher champion type, hand me a mic I'll be dismantling your fantasty life Wombaticus Rex, rapping for checks, status and s** NO SUCH LUCK, now my a** is in debt You don't get cash for respect, or battling heads I got a black sense of humor and I'm laughing to d**h