Open Mike Eagle - Werner Herzog lyrics

[Verse 1: Busdriver] How could you call yourself the best rapper You in a cover band that's playing Sledgehammer In your cupped hands is pet hamster Your genitals are sitting on wet pampers Holdup while I test this red snapper Militant like a pledged Panther I hunt big name n***a, I collect antlers And you got b**h problems, breast cancer Hellfyre Club we the wrong set to slander We'll make you eat a crepe filled with Chia pet dander And I always stay on the set with cameras I go Herzog, n***a you dead like Dirt Dog All you movie-making lames in the booty-shaking vein On the moving gravy train are left in excruciating pain Because I'm in the house, you be like “which house?” I make Witch-House up at your b**h's house Wearing nothing but a Speedo and a pig snout Y'all must have pricks and ovums Jocking me like I'm Chris Nolan My scathing critique of your sh** leaves your script molten Because you want to drive porches through the Waterloos Have a home like the Fortress of Solitude So on-set to snort sh** through a hollow tube But at the end you're just gorgeous piranha food [Verse 2: Open Mike Eagle] He's Herzog, I'm P.T. Anderson At your premiere I snuck 3-D cameras in I bootlegged your sh** for the downtrodden Cause you got your film degree at a clown college You use brown polish, like a white racist And shoot titles in Sans Serif typefaces Take ten paces, and yell "Fire!" I nail you to a big board like Mel Kiper No secret, I'll tell you why I smell wiser I got a bunch of girls pregnant cause I sell diapers And I'm a god-damned genius The Marc Maron a dark-skinned art baron Smart like lucky kids who get born to smart parents Who feed them locally-grown farmer's market cart carrots I eat fair trade cheese and fart fairness [Hook] I...go...Werner...Herzog I...go...Werner...Herzog I...go...Herzog Which means I get large spread art cred smart heads are fed [Verse 3: Nocando] Skip the introduction, buddy I'm not mingling Hoes on my dick cause I look like John Singleton Cut like Tarantino with his big-a** machete Once I read my notebook, word to Nick Ca**avetes Twelve frames, half a second, Clockwork, Stanley Kubrick A rap session I'll put my nose in, I can't be Buddhist I learned my lesson, I'm really a savvy student But dark like Tim Burton, and look fit like a thin person But I'm just a happy human Before I see a stupid rom-com with a nice chick I might get, the right grip, to set up a light rig Attach a GoPro to the po-po's nightstick And a**ault him with an icepick -- and ask him how he likes it Excuse me -- unhhh -- my swag sharted I feel like Shaft with a shag on shag carpet These rappers aren't factors they're actors with no SAG cards in They think they're the truth but they that gossip rag garbage Written sh** or freestyle, homie I'm that murderous Remember me? I used to enter them rap tournaments Breaking n***as' spirits like a bag full of gla** ornaments Well b**h it's time to eat now, show me where craft service is Thinking out loud like an introspective extrovert If I play the background I'm directing, not that extra work Bust that 16 but I decided to put in extra work To make them strippers drop it super mega-low and extra twerk Rappers say they don't hate, but most of 'em do I feed off it like Vigo in Ghostbusters 2 I can roll up your crew, or throat-f** your boo Whatever transpires is so up to you Lights Camera Action The whip is fully covered so I might have to crash it Getting southpaw HJ's from a right-handed ratchet The airbag deploys The credits start to roll How anti-climactic ... Hellfyre