The Sump Pump of Hop Hip

Back to the flow, I’m never fronting,
Rock the mic like a sump pump, I’m really sumpthing.
Lumpenproletariat, go tell the bourgeoisie,
Even the one percent’s getting hip to me, G.

They’re skiing at Aspen on six inches of fresh coke
while I’m getting et by the skeeters in Okeefeenoke.
Ain’t no joke but they call me The Riddler,
I’m up on my lines like gay men on Bette Midler.

Fiddler on the make, got 4 on the floor,
Five-finger Mary, 6-6-6 on the door.
Whore of Babylon couldn’t get with this,
It’s a foregone conclusion, I babble on witless.

Sit less, stand more, I’m wired like a telco,
Strung out on Strunk and White, shave with Norelco.
“Omit needless words,” but I need ‘em all.
Prelapsarian even after the fall.

Y’all can’t google this quick as I bust it.
If I say “perspicacious” you’ll just have to trust it.
Rust belt-and-suspenders, I keep myself covered,
Sans-a-Belt leisure suit, I’m getting discovered.

I’m a terra nova and feeling del fuego,
Not Chevy No-va or sin los juevos.

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