You Get Mad at Napster

Please don't mess with me, I'll spit you out like you were Sunny D
Did you really think you could be me, baby? Listen, this next part is key
You play a lot of Nintendo, smoke endo
As far as men go, when ya gonna hit a crescendo
And throw Super Mario and Atari out the window?
Now, we have somethin' in common
You're lactose intolerant I'm wack host intolerant

Stop talkin' about smackin' crack hoes you're in college apologies accepted
I might have left lyrical holes in your mind
You'll fill it later with cable or hot 97
Or Taco-Bell-n applyin', you wanna play? Fine
Play-doh, roll you through a machine until you come out in little strings
I'm obscene, I really could eat like five Krispy Kremes
Like when they're hot-like all my tracks are hot

I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot (like all my tracks are hot)
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot

Stop going on AOL chat to try to find friends
Yeah, everyone likes you because you said you were tall, slim and
Liked Dre over Ren, Cage over Em
Rage over them, Bahamadia over Lil' Kim
I had no idea you been down with hip-hop since you were ten
You were out ya playpen rubbin' Barbie

All over Ken and marvelling over your carving
Of Led Zeppelin in your desk in ya den
I'm hittin' mad skins, you got bad skin
Get rad skins for your MP3 player kid, I'm a Real Player!

Hard like Slayer while you a dater with Darth Vader
I'm famous-later, I hang with both Ralph Nader and Roc Raida, okay?

I swear I'm super you play boring Solitaire on your computer combed over hair
Wear a boober shirt work at Hooters
In your underwear look like Mr. Hooper, I don't care
I was nice to you originally what I'm doin'
Is gonna ruin you like Druid ruins hear the crowd booin' naturally
Actually this is a big 'ol waste of my time
I would rather be home playing with my parakeets than making up this stupid rhyme
I mean, I am a sensitive Pisces and I wouldn't want to make you start cryin'
Yeah, start cryin'

I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot ('cause all my tracks are hot)
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot

You get mad at Napster when nobody's even heard of you
I did a search on your name and came up with one result
It was your computer, you're a loser
Lame, your screen name pseudo hip-hop sounding
Lingo mixed up lowercase/capital letters
What you think this is Bingo? I got singles out already

People know my name in discerning circles from New York to LA
While you and Colonel Jerk pay spurt
On dirty curtains in a big shirt singin' Hip Hop Hooray

You're idle, I'm an idol, you're not entitled, I got a title
Nobody trades your file chill child when I said I liked you
I was just tired
Go occupy yourself for a while you're lost whatever just frick off
Vile in denial just step off

Why you think I get deals from record labels you get deals from drug dealers?
Unappealing insincere won't eat Happy Meals
You spill bong water like tears filled with lost fear
Do acid and beer and trip out on how your queer
Little beard looks so weird in the mirror man

Guitar noodlin' and patchouli let me teach you Ital-go Fongule
When I was in high school I'd a thought you were so fuckin' cool

Anyway as I was saying before my screen name is much better than yours, it's-
What you think I would tell you so you can Instant Messenger me all day?
I don't think so, I am very important and right now I am eating lunch
Go get signed to Ruffhouse, go away
Bid on eBay for a stuffed Mickey Mouse in a mug
A sticky handcuffed pic of buff Courtney Love
One of Prince's aborted doves, a Jackson glove
A blow up Peter Max pillow of Love
A diamond rug, or somethin' worth more than all that stuff
A cup that Princess Superstar once drank out of

I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot ('cause all my tracks are hot)
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot ('cause all my tracks are hot)
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot ('cause all my tracks are hot)
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot (goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye)
I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot, 'cause all my tracks are hot
Hot!



Credits
Writer(s): Concetta Kirschner, Philipp Palm
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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