“Hipster Hotel”

This is check-in
But we can only enter if you let us in
Make sure we’re the right ones
Not some ghost writers
Telling out-of-date jokes they must work for David Letterman

And I got a monster beat
Like Killer Tofu video
I’m killing it and eating it
Like roadkill off the fucking road
Make sure you don’t fucking choke
Sam Rockwell
Rock hard, rock on, VHOh!zone
Get your woolen caps here this world’s coming to an end
Like it’s twenty-four months after 2010
Or your girlfriend now is simply just a friend
Who’s a girl like Hermione, Emma Watson
So Oh!Zone’s playing Sherlock Holmes
To keep the people safe inside their homes
Before that fucking missile homes
Somebody call a priest- Holmes
This place is kind of fishy
Like a Long-John Silver kitchen
All the kids don’t speak they’re lipless
And the bellboy don’t have fingers
Where bitches like to listen to those copycats like Yu-Gi-Oh
I’ma spit some fire for you like it is my duty, bro
Used to be historical now it’s just historic fiction
Order off the dollar menu get that egg and bacon biscuit
Take away the egg and bread and go back to your residence
Girlfriend asks you what you’re doing? Bringing home the bacon, bitch
Now here is the bait and switch
I’m a fraud like David Blaine
My frights keep adding up and I can’t even stop the fucking train
Yeah I’ve got a brain but only use a tenth of it
The other nine parts counting up my money in percentages
Of the sales that this EP is going to fucking make
So I don’t gotta tell you that I’m drawing up a fucking blank
I wanna spend my savings, I don’t even have a fucking bank
I’m banking it on cranking out the best EP I’ll ever make
And yeah this is a product of procrastination, David Lynch
I hope to have twin peaks on the charts, my greatest hits

I’m sittin in a barbershop don’t even need my ears down
Just passing out my demo so my peers can get this ear sound
And yeah they’re all black but that’s the point, man, you got me?
I’m the only white kid like the inverse of Barney

Ever since Simon Cowell told me I could not advance
I’ve ramped up every part me like Hot Wheels by a Nascar fan
Since I left you everything’s been crumbling like an avalanche
Sorry I was gone I was in Kelly Clarkson’s underpants
Call me Fleetwood call me Mac as long as you know how to dance
And how to mac out like a Kraft employee with some bulging pants
Check my pulse just to confirm that you are still alive enough
And if you’re not you can’t come up, you are not invited brah