[Lyric] The Resume (Wombaticus Rex)

I promise to leave, the crowd too astonished to breathe
For comic relief, I get drunk and vomit emcees
I love repeating rhymes with double meaning
So sick that most of my fans got trouble eating
Check the resume, learned to levitate in seventh grade
Got addicted to liquid acid mixed with lemonade
I'm sick of tired of spitting written fire
Attacking kids with pliers and rolls of chicken wire
I can scream and shout until my veins explode
Or juggle dreams around and fingerpaint with flows
Leave the heat with the sheep, I pack glossaries
Blast philosophy until I'm past the last apostrophe
I may be high tonight, but my advice is act responsibly
And practice constantly to increase your rap velocity
Only opinion, just a suggestion
Cuz I get the same question so much it's depressing
Previous experience with smoking herbs
Then choking nerds with ropes of broken verbs
Check the resume, man, for most of my life
I been approaching the mic like an explosive device
And I been floating all night...let my flows explore
From the ocean floor to your local grocery store
When I blaze onstage...what a lotta you see?
That's holographic, it's not like my body is me
Man made words, words made flesh
Flesh made God, God made man
I'm just dropping the truth on top of the groove
And walking you through the cycle of the consciousness loop
Slap college kids for perpetuating rap politics
I love my fans but I refuse to have followers
You do not know me, the rhymes I write
Are just a tiny slice of what my mind is like
So here's to dudes who refuse to accept reality
I question my talent, sanity and sexuality
I test the limits, thirtyseven's never repetitious
Check the physics, I kill God and get religious
Bodies get slammed, with the force of ford economy vans
I eat adrenaline from hippopotamus glands
Dig: I freak a flow that frightens most professionals
Then put some frozen vegetables over my swollen testicles
Hands in the pants bandit is back, panic attack
I'm here to hump the drums until my sampler cracks
Tarantula rap, you just can't handle the facts
I got eight fuzzy fingers of death, examine the math
Previous experience with smoking herbs
Then choking nerds with ropes of broken verbs
Check the resume, man, for most of my life
I been approaching the mic like an explosive device
And I been floating all night...let my flows explore
From the ocean floor to your local grocery store
When I blaze onstage...what a lotta you see?
That's holographic, it's not like my body is me
Man made words, words made flesh
Flesh made God, God made man
I'm just dropping the truth on top of the groove
And walking you through the cycle of the consciousness loop