Miss Information Lyrics

My name is Disk Mastah Smokabitch,
nerd rap historian,
rock like amaadeus and chant like Gregorian.
Listen up. There's a lot to the story and if my name was Sean Stone,
I would play the accordian.

Lemme set you straight,
so you ain't gotta guess:
MC Chris's real name is Damien Hess, he's the best.
Correct. Most adept nerd rapper,
to ever coach the little league team of YT Cracka
plus the Spamtek Crew, in mascara,
and the fuax hawk like Kevein Pereira...

It was the punk rock era.
Come on. Contradict me. You can't, son.
I dare ya.

I get on track with the yes, yes, ya'll.
I bring it back with the no not at all.
I fill you head with oblique catch-alls.
Miss Information is smart, big tits and tall.

What kind of girl is miss? You can't find her.
She keeps an Ipod inside her vagina. The chord hangs
kinda behind her.

A little eina cliena nach in a minor.

MC Router rocked the 1337 beats in geek speak,
and Benjamin Bear clean your clock like neat freaks.
We keep beats, like Optimus Rhyme with heat seek
and I never joined a frat cause I hate greeks.

What's the problem, my son?
It seems that you've met my friend Ultraklystron.
He's a werewolf, by gum!
And he can't stand Japanese animation.

Mega Man in a porno shop.
Futuristic Sex Robots with hip-hop stops.
I came to rock.
The schlock jock,
with the trackball sticky from the peppermint schnapps on top.

I never get my screennames blocked.
Flip the k-line on the IRC-cop.
And you know I got this track locked.
Take it back like Link boomerangin' an octorock.

A little bit of night music in a minor.

The heavyweight webcomic artist to order,
rocks the nerd style from south of the border.
Whitesican with a skin disorder.
You better step aside for the big man.

I mean he jacked like a elephant,
ground beneath he,
shakes the earth when he moves his feet. He,
never touch a vegetable, green and leafy,
I wanna give it up to my main man...
MC Plus Plus!

Alice is sending her message to Bob,
protecting that...

Wait. That's the wrong song.

133T Geek Beat were created In a test tube
And my friend Monzy is actually Ice Cube
And we met one another up at MIT
Where we studied the art of rhyming from Beefy
And few know that Frontalot is actually a parrot
Who had his DNA spliced with that of a ferret
In the mad science lab of Dr. MC Hawking
He's the puppetmaster of Frontalot's sqawking
No lies, Optimus Rhyme are actually cyborgs
who used to go by the name The Machina Warlords
The high voice was a curse put on mc chirs
That'll vanish after true love's first kiss
It's hard to be a rapper and an amputee
That's why I have so much respect Jesse Dangerously
This has all been fact, no jokes, and no lying
The greatest rapper in the world is Mr. Shael Riley

Who? Shael Riley? This one here?
Done a whole lot a tracks;
ain't nobody cared
but he keeps coming back
like he's learning impaired
with a MC Chris voice and the
Frontalot hair.

I couldn't mumble
I humble my sentence since,
I was consumed by a taciturn reticence,
face to face with the man who set precedence
for nerd style and geek-rock excellence.

Using physics he could tell I was sick,
so he opened his mouth and produced a guitar pick.
I looked at MC Hawking.
I picked up his pick and now I can't stop rawking.

MC Router is smart, big tits and tall.

A little nerdcore hip-hop, in a minor.

My name is Disk Mastah Smokabitch,
nerd rap historian,
rock like amaadeus and chant like Gregorian.