"Bill Minorin'"  Parental Advisory genre: Alternative Hip Hop
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	"'Hands Up' said the sheriff, 'hands up!'"
	Story Behind the Song Mike and I were in two separate cities when we wrote this song. We each recorded our parts onto the computer and Mike mixed it all together. It was all put together in about a day, with some re-mixing afterwards. Lyrics Another rip in the fabric of the space and the time continuum No sooner are the girlies into me than I'll be into em One swing of the pendulum, initiate the whoop-ass Pass the mic to Shel cause ain't nobody rap as good as I'm the master of Philology, no apology high quality, I love it when the crowd they cold applaudin' me Mike's high in validity, his own epitome You think you won the race and then you wonder "how'd he get ahead of me?" He'll put you out your misery, prepare to meet your maker Rap's Jack Kevorkian, lyrical euthanasia Got more flavour than a crate of Jello gelatin Mike, get on the mic, give em a taste of Mella Mellatin No stubble on my chin cause I shave the face Before I ate my steak, wait to say grace Stole your laptop, erased the database And causin' anal-rapes with my Promark 808's I rate as high as Plato rates, and here's my philosophy: I may work for you but ain't no way that you're the boss of me Get off of me, delicacy recipe, open sesame I'll make a livin' doin' this if it's the death of me Spin my deadly disc, but I'm not Tron Sublime, with the rhyme, all the time, I'm on Amadeus Radio, Acadia: we'll play for you Hypin' the main event, I'm rap's Wrestle Mania You gotta pay my pal and me top salary He's contagious as a malady, I'm the cult of personality Fact not fallacy, I'm gettin' callous, see? Jack-the-Rippery Watch your step, the slope's gettin' slippery Chorus: They got us in the bars in the clubs on the pub crawl Third Man Form's here, throw your hands up y'all We write the stanza everybody's fans of Cold Bill Minorin' Throw your hands up Third Man's formin', bein' reborn and Like Ali, I bee, you'll find me swarmin' King of the ring, I'm the hunter collectin' bounty The quicker-picker-upper not the coward of the county Got lots of fans, I'm the beater on the pots and pans The beaver on the tops of dams Flip a nickel-coin, maple-leaf is on a penny Even when I gamble with Kenny I'm never losin' any Big like a tsunami, who the fuck is Tommy? Ed, you're sellin' sweepstakes, so where the fuck is Johnny? You know that I'm the rudest, especially when I do this You're trippin', I'm cripplin', discipline of a Buddhist Locust, I'll show you how dope this local is Done of drums this time, I'm the fucking vocalist "I hit em like a freight train" You like a spitball Stephen Hawking's even rocking: "Kick the wicked shit, y'all..." My Man Mella is a natural, must be something in his chromosomes Got Tina's head a-turnin' riding on his thunderdome We got the songwriting credits, do all our own work and We'll soon be featured on Biography with Jack Perkins That's on Arts and Entertainment, A&E for short And you know we're in the game, call us E.A. Sport I might move to New York cause I got mad cat-skills Make some fat bills, then go to Gotham and see how the Bat chills... Chorus You hit the ground with a thud when I throw ya Y'all are gonna drown in the flood and I'm noah These days I wonder what the matter is, rapping now is hazardous I'm bringing rap back from the dead -- pull a Christ on that Lazarus So thus spoke Zarathustra, You want a hit single? "Yeah!" let me produce ya Stepped inside, "You're the one!" they cried Pray for me Mary; I've succumbed to pride This is a never-ending story no dragon no Atrayu Third Man may be new to you, but really this is phase II Conductin' things proper, buildin' up the energy We're Domingo and Pavarotti, and Matt can be our tenor three It's what I do it for, to and fro, fifty years ago I was in New Mexico, shot me down a UFO An alien hailin' from Zeta Reticuli Disqualify you, only I fit the curriculi Extracurricular, mean as Mengele, plural or singular Torturin' you, a la Caligula I'll show you what the beat's for, 1 2 3 4 You gotta come and see Shel by the sea shore Nat Imbruglia's all that and a bag of chips I'll make you wag your hips, stealin' flags from ships Our beats be shipped out the country like a mother fucking exodus Labels using FedEx to send the fucking cheques to us Third Man Form'll be around for and eon, You're just a passing fad your icon's neon Let bygones be gone, this mission ain't a recon You niggaz are just playin' apparition' to my Egon' Renderin' you powerless, on account of all y'all's cowardice Yes I'm white but leave vanilla out of this Judge us on our own criteria, we're scarin' niggaz shitless Givin' em diarrhea, the sickness You achoo, I bless you, and pass you the tissues We got more chicks than a million swimsuit issues... Chorus

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