Count Eleven

Say what you aren't Sell what I see Pray tell, what you wanna be when the beat gets awful frisky? Lawful Risky Hit 'em with the freak shit, makeshift, breakbeat, straight heat Afraid he'll come undone on the runaround Readied back at Frame One No cooldown Smack that fool down If a true combo hits then mate, you'd pray you stayed down Quarter-circle-back attack on a track mid-match Never buy a beat that you know that you can make by scratch Do me a favour, won't ya? Put a little semiquaver culture in this structure Vampire vultures stalk in the dread of the night Dead to rights are The Knights of the four-four Court of Score wrights It's heaven for those who can send it Ascendant A triplet groove for this mathematics lesson School is in session A million miles an hour for the fuckwit, dipshit, white kid Give it to me straight, can you count to eleven, mate? Shit Once I wanted To be someone else Threap the bonds that Forced me from my shell Fi! Vivacious Sics thine own sick spell Seven sins sit Still, sum yet withheld Ain't that nifty? Ain't that something else? Ain't this freaky? Ain't this such the yell? Eight's too easy Nine's too round and slow Tend this with me Eleven beats or so I don't need drums to keep time If rhyme's a weapon, I'm betting yours ain't half as sharp as mine Much ado about naught but oneself The selfish sets all else's fairs square on the shelf Heaven and Hell can contend that life's the Practice before the mortal must leap in the deep end But no, I've never believed in those creeps Let's double the speed, then Everybody's saying that I'm never gonna make it, but I'm taking any Bet that I can on the self at any odds they'll let me stake it Learning that I can't half-bake it Full-and-a-half at the very least Pulling a calf, all to keep Up with my heroes and all the cool shit they've done One Fun Run becomes a marathon Never done Half a ton of double entendres Your beats are nice so show me what's under It's fun to hear thunder But I can't take the bullshit anymore What's it for? You think the money and fame will make your Repertoire more worth the passion left at the door? Well, the four-on-the-floor groove is no longer the standard The beat's gone independent Sovereign Nation of Fun The State of The Passionate Hum Bolstered by the wait they've been forced to take since Day One Give it to me straight, can you count to eleven, cunt? Say it with me Say you'll take the plunge Let's get busy Grab them by the plums Twist and break them Scream and tell them their Rules are made in Hatred, greed and fear Don't go gentle Into that good night Life's a rental Make its maker write Off the excess Milk this till it's dry When they say to Jump, you say "how high?"