| Get your hands up | |
| The sky's falling | |
| Get your hands up | |
| It's the apocalypse | |
| Got a mouth full of lambs blood | |
| Dam broke down | |
| The whole town flooded | |
| Your man couldn't cut it | |
| Got his fake ass gutted | |
| He muttered something monotoned | |
| Under his breath | |
| Now he's out first round | |
| With his hand on his chest | |
| Must have been a cardiac | |
| Now he's searching for his Pontiac | |
| To get back to a bar attack | |
| To brush up on his battle rap | |
| We hit the high hats and make it clap | |
| We wear plaid after labor day and still get ass | |
| We're high-class, low brow, over bomb beats | |
| Cloggin' more ateries than the drive-thru at Arby's. | |
| Singin', I love Rock 'n' Roll | |
| So put another dime in the jukebox, baby. | |
| I love Rock 'n' Roll | |
| Put another dime and dance with me! | |
| Get your hands clappin' | |
| The aliens have landed | |
| Get your hands clappin' | |
| Damn I'm dope | |
| Been rockin' since a zygote | |
| It won't stop the price crossers opening for my ghost | |
| Cos everybody knows that I've been backin' the fans | |
| My rhymes touch more kids than Micheal Jackson's hands | |
| I'm iller than thriller | |
| Stiffer than a zombie | |
| Gagged with Abercrombie while your girl rides up on me | |
| And I'm callin' up your sister and we're cuddling to Amelie. | |
| Ohhhh! | |
| So you think you can rap | |
| So you walk eight miles, and you think you can rap. | |
| That's cuter than the Olsen pre-dope but your crack | |
| Or havin' a teddy bear tattooed up on your back. | |
| Singin', I love Rock 'n' Roll | |
| So put another dime in the jukebox, baby. | |
| I love Rock 'n' Roll | |
| Put another dime and dance with me! |
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