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lirik lagu amateur rappers – the burning hell

from biblical babylon to modern scientology
the problem with cults, at least according to me
is that it’s so hard to see the purpose, meaning or point in them
and they’re never any fun, but still, people keep joining them
if i was a cult leader, my cult would be wicked
we’d find a jam to kick out, and then we’d just kick it
we’d wear the coolest cult robes and then we’d disrobe each other
we’d never shave our heads or call each other sister and brother
when the compound’s rocking, don’t come knocking, don’t come banging or rattling
‘cause we’re busy getting busy or just casually rap-battling
drinking cult kool-aid straight, a little water no rocks
you know that i’ll drink it too when it’s time to kick off
because my body is mortal but my rhymes are unk!llable
look at me slice through this song with all its dipthongs and syllables
my lips spit quick, it’s a slick trick, i’ve got mad sk!lls
it’s not making me rich, but hey, it pays the bills
it’s true, cross my heart this is a work of non-fiction
so don’t fall apart when i whip out my diction
‘cause i write all my songs while listening to the wu-tang clan
i learned some tricks from odb and method man
when i’m not rhyming i’m trying to find time to unwind with the cl-ssics of comedy
though i know those jokes are lame or sick or just downright vomity
but the shiniest apples have the slimiest worms at their core
don’t bother to stop me if you’ve heard this one before
‘cause this old chestnut is a real knee slapper:
inside every one of us is a comedian, a cult leader, and an amateur rapper
hey a-train –
uh-huh?
i’ve got a good one for you
what’s that?
knock knock
who’s there?
interrupting cow
interrupting cow wh-
moo
you see the joke is the cow is always interrupting and – never mind
i should maybe stick to dead baby jokes, they work every time
it says a lot that we’ve got lots of them about dead tots or toddlers
but when we see a live one we don’t k!ll it – we just kiss him or coddle her
now some of my best friends are moms and dads and they may hate me but isn’t
parenting the last refuge of the scoundrel? no, that’s patriotism
anyway, though i see a lot of people first meeting and then breeding like guppies
my heart goes all down-and-uppy when i see a little kitten or a little puppy
and i find my heart bursting with red heart-shaped confetti
and i think maybe i’ll get a dog, then i go no, i’m not ready
i couldn’t handle the responsibility, where would i find the time
to build my compound, my comedy career, my empire of rhyme?
but then i think i’ll need a dog if the nuclear holocaust comes
we’d wander the desolate planet, hide in deserted city slums
my dog would warn me, he’d bark if mutant cannibals were attacking us
we’d be bushwhacking and double-backing in case those mutants were tracking us
then we’d finally find refuge in an abandoned nursery school and we’d be alone
i’d light a small fire and my dog would find and chew an unknown mystery bone
we’d wake up in the morning starving, our lips blue and our ribs showing through
and i’d spy a pack of wild dog puppies and think of trapping just one or two
then my dog would look up at me with those big eyes, all sad and gentle
and i’d be like “come on, dog, it’s the apocalypse, we can’t get sentimental.”

but here’s the cherry on the cake – here is the topper, the capper:
inside every one of us fakes beats the red heart of a mother
a father, a trapper, a cult leader, a comedian
and an amateur rapper

- the burning hell

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