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Alexs 18th: Philadelphia Cheese
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Rap Diss for my brother's 18th Birthday.
hiphop rap funny comedy freestyle rapping humor parody humour rude jokes crude song parody
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Comedy hiphop rap parody jokes funny crude humor humour rude rapping freestyle
http://www.inthe00s.com/index.php/topic,10115.0.html
Song Info
Charts
Peak #4,039
Peak in subgenre #2,073
Rights
Just link me if you use it, baeioutch.
Uploaded
January 15, 2007
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.9 MB 128 kbps 4:18
Story behind the song
My brother, uh, had a birthday.
Lyrics
This jerk emerged during birth, quim-squirted externally The nurse measured his limbs and placed him on a gurney, see Wheeled into maternity, he first glimpsed his fraternity And said “Fuck this, I’d prefer it in limbo for eternity!” Umbilical cord swung round like a goddamn noose, aimed To lasso the roof fan and go out like Saddam Hussein “Oh crap!” The membrane snapped, he fell, landed on his brain No main arteries explains why this chap is still so vain Alex is placid to talk to. He’s one passive schmuck But still a titanic, rockhard thoracic jock Afflicted with a syndrome known as ‘massive fuck’ Walk your hulk ass back home to Jurassic Park! Fell in an acid bath? Oh, no, that’s just his tan line This man lines up deodorant cans like a damn shrine Spends time in front of mirrors more often than Fran Fine Can’t rhyme lyrics or one-liners, so he just scams mine You’ll feel ill like jungle fever or a fungal plant sting Reading thirty-six-hundred words of quite bungled planning Cuz man, his Philanderer’s Stein spoof was dung-filled ranting Alexander’s ‘sibling wannabe’ like young Elle Fanning Just kidding. Hell, imagine having to live together With friggin’ Nib as your bigger brother-slash-father figure Most others would rather suck a shotgun and pluck the trigger Than have put up with so much from such a fucking wigga So if you’re sexy to every red-blooded woman If your bro’s ________, that fuckin’ Mormon Then get down with the sound that be bumpin’ on, man And ceh-leh-bra-teh til you burst, hey A KFC employee, so minimum wagin’ Have a backyard nap when it’s hot, sunbathin’ Man, you know that your gonads are not unshaven Nigga what?! Today’s your eighteenth birthday A one-man phalanx, Alex is his own battalion This Brattoni’s known as Austritalian_Stallion Oh, this bold and valiant man defies all physics credo The whole galaxy revolves around his fricking ego Clicking emo photographs of his own torso His cap is a constant muse, new shoes even more so Also, every other garment hung in his wardrobe Born so poor, he’s flaunting all the clothes he can afford, yo This braggart's thick like a brick slab of plaster and granite Exposing those pecs on his chest would flabbergast Janet Such abnormal fab showmanship, he surpasses ‘chick magnet’ That chiselled abdomen draws in every minx on the planet That’s right, girls orbit him like satellite receivers. Christ, even Norbert and Dagget cannot cite seeing that much tight beav er Either Alex is God’s gift to women, or a fetid joke There’s no way his gay behaviour equates him as hetero If your wissy mum is singing ‘Truck And Trailer’ And you’re fending girlfriends off your genitalia At the beach, no more need to be scared of whalers Cuz you lost that puppy fat and girth, mate If your chick is a six foot tall ditzy model If you smother your mother with vicious cuddles If your face is the shape of a Christmas bauble Nigga what?! Today’s your 18th Birthday Yo, I only slander my bro because Alexander’s Branded on my candid graph of potential sex panders Below Geri, Beth Croker, EmiLoca and Sapna Sanders I’d tap Alex’s ass like we were both captive pandas But dammit, commandments of national standards ban it So I have to one-hand it like some one-armed bandit Til it hits January 15th on my calendar planner (There’s no risk of inbred kids with family men enamoured) Alex may stay up late having conversations with ladies But they can’t compete, I’ve been his mate since natalhood, baby He’s crazy for Ralph Lauren, eats his Weet Bix with a teaspoon He pimped-out Mum’s old piece of crap, but aint seeing no P’s soon Keep him off a skateboard or he’ll end up unconscious Looking worse than when he copped those indigenous punches In the fridge are his lunches: a six pack of lager God, as if that six pack of his needs to get any larger… If you’re stocky and cocky and mates with Coward And you charm girls from drama without n o flowers But with Beckham-like slick metrosexual powers You’re the f
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