Crap Artists (Acapella)

[Verse 1: Despot]
Everyone clap for the crap artists
A pat on the back to whichever one sounds smartest
Capture the magic of blabberin' half-hearted
And the last rambling man standing laughs hardest
Pan-handling a grand, standing on red carpets
Doing the camera flash dance in new pants, targets
Tune in to catch a glance of a new fad starting
They only listen when you spittin' what the bad part is
Eyes glazed over, watch your idols cry for food
Words big as their appetites and none of them are true
Fresh out of shit to say but still got plenty to prove
Like these words were made for talking and talking's not for you
My sleeves are stuffed with better ways to say things
I pull them out at the first hint of the spell breaking
Real magic making for an honorable mention
So clap where people can see you my ego needs tending
Only tip my hat to cats with scratch to toss in it
Fill it up, while the rabbit distracts the lost children
Make a living off of milking them for teardrops
And mashing words together till the mother fucking beat stops
Soon enough they'll tell you that you're spouting out their dreams
Not the racket of an idiot with eyes on that supreme spot
And a folding chair to pull up at the top
For a seat next to the toilet where the shit that doesn't stink drops
Could almost see it every time I pitch rocks
Camped out in a glass house with a slingshot

[Hook: Despot]
I get paid to breathe
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
I get paid to breathe
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
I get paid to breathe
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
Hooray for me

[Verse 2: Despot]
Great job rapping, now the second-hand knows your name
And is playing bloody knuckles with your 15 minutes of fame
That spot on the top 10 list's just a stain
But everything looks better when you put it in a frame
Just hang it next to that impressive portrait in your pane
And nag about how it's unfortunate to be the same
Charge 'em for a peek, push 'em out quick, "Thanks for coming."
Super-star mystique; couldn't see what, but it was stunning
Get every whimpering crowd buzzin'
Till that old fat lady's too weak to sing above it
So it's over when it's muffled by the rumble of her stomach
Or somebody dents a shovel thinking they finally struck it
For the deeper meaning, dig cause your treasure's a whoopie cushion
And a fresh new grave you already put your foot in
Sitting on a secret, now you're embarrassed for looking
And that big red button looks about ripe for pushing
Someone mistook the magic beans for food
So whoever fart the loudest is obviously the truth
And what could make me prouder than pouring salt in the wounds
Of them kids who still believe cows jump over moons
Something to do while making sure you all stay dizzy
Ball up the fist, squeeze the life out of pretty
Wait until their back's turned, screaming "Don't hit me!"
And they'll find no pity, cause the sign said "Kick Me"

[Hook: Despot]
I get paid to breathe
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
I get paid to breathe
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
I get paid to breathe
Hooray for me
Hooray for me
Hooray for me