STFU

(Boom!)
Shut the fuck up, shut your mouth and shut up
One trait is back so it's time to get the fuck up
(Boom!)
What's the fuck's up
'Bardi 'bout to come up
Baseball bat, yeah he gonna fuck my knees up

Where the tracks at?
Where's my money bro?
I got my axe back
I'm 'bout to kill you, yo

Chop, chop, chop down both your knees
Like some trees while you're screamin': Lombardi, please!

(Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please
(Lombardi please)
(Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please)
(Where the tracks at?)
(Where's my money bro?)

(Indie rock is dead, but I'm not)
(But I'm not)
(Bu-Bu-But I'm not)
(But I'm not)

Write the songs
How hard could it be?
Write the music
This shit ain't easy
Write the songs (how hard could it be?)
I've gotta write the songs (write the songs)
Can't think of shit, I don't know how to write
I used this joke on the last album, right?
I'm no Shakespeare, no Vonnegut
I don't even know what a sonnet is

Welcome to the slaughter house
You can't even hide at your daughter's house

You signed the contract with your blood
They suck the rest if you give 'em a dud
If you don't make him the fuckin' stacks
With sufficient raps, with ten platinum tracks
He's gonna come to your house with a baseball bat
And break both of your motherfuckin' legs in half

So you pray to the Lord to forgive your sins
So you pray to the Lord to forgive your sins
So you pray to the Lord to forgive your sins
So you pray to the Lord to forgive your sins

(Come on!)

(One two three, motherfucker)