Lyrics:
the oven on four hundred and eighty degrees
Hailey Jade, Daddy loves you, baby
Don't ever tell me how to raise my daughter, fuck you, lady
You critics
a magician, critics I turn to crickets
Got 'em still on the fence whether to pick it
But quick to get impaled when I tell 'em, "Stick it"
So sick, I'm
Howled like the North Wind
Brought forth wind that made critics rave
While Verdi turned round in his grave
Couldn't hear the flute
Or the big
Pollinate they ear buds
Like you supposed to, spit it for the culture
Pay no attention to the critics and the vultures
They rather have a shot of Belvy
To blow this like a trumpet you dumb shit
This is a unusual musical I conducting
You looking at the black Warren Buffett so all critics can duck sic
I
them don't worry
I'll be back to finish my reps
I don't care what all them critics are saying
I been to hell and back, I know the plan
When you
critics starting to mumble
Oh my God, I feel dead inside, feel like suicide
Gone too far to turn back, he said, "Boy, you tellin' lies"
It's deep inside
and died
He went up to heaven, located his dog
After that, he rejoined his arm
Below all the critics, they took it all back
Cancer robbed the whore
Howled like the North Wind
Brought forth wind that made critics rave
While Verdi turned round in his grave
Couldn't hear the flute
Or the big
time to you is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'
Come writers and critics
and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
To blow this like a trumpet you dumb shit
This is a unusual musical I conducting
You looking at the black Warren Buffett so all critics can duck sic
I
they've done for the last 50 years
Now I'm laughing at my own jokes, but I'm crying inside
'Cause I'm working on the Jungle Cruise ride
Oh the critics
a magician, critics I turn to crickets
Got 'em still on the fence whether to pick it
But quick to get impaled when I tell 'em, "Stick it"
So sick, I'm
and critics
Who prophesy with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no
that don't listen, the crowds that don't care.
Been told countless times Boy you ain't goin' nowhere
To do what I do.
So I hope the critics
Right outside this lazy summer home
You ain't got time to call your soul a critic, no
Right outside the lazy gate of winter's summer home
failed saints.
We've got Cardinals, Archbishops, barristers, certified accountants, music critics,
They're all here.
You're not alone, you're never
guy's named Moe, that's us!
When they start to beat it out,
Everybody jumps and shouts,
Tell me who the critics all rave about,
Five guys named Moe.
and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
I'm livin' large as possible, posse unstoppable
Style topical, it's vividly optical
Listen, you'll see 'em sometimes I'll be 'em
Cops, critics
Riddick Bowe'd
Critics'll end up in critical
Think your shit is dope all you're gonna get is smoked then
And I ain't stopping 'till I'm on top again, all
Well I saw a story in the paper
Suddenly the bands big news
The critics all like our records just fine
But they seem a bit confused
Is it folk
I'm hard to miss
The press follows everywhere I go
I'll poke your eye out with a dress like this
Back off and enjoy the show!
I'm sure my critics will
.jpg/220px-The_Backyard_(album).jpg "The Backyard Critics")
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