Information on the RapperEdit
Think me some bigoted pornographer; when will you people learn?
No, I'm your lyrical hitman, and things won't take a Peaceful turn;
The burns I spit'll worse-than-Singe you once you step in my lair, fool,
So brace for an unfiltered lecture, courtesy of Bakshi School:
You're fucking with the patron saint of animation's underground,
Who's in control of more than just the flippers as he knocks you 'round!
Coonskin made negroes doubt my whiteness, but I'll make you go albino;
Milk this track for all it's worth like Universal has your dinos!
I'll tear you more holes where sun don't shine than Rock-a-Doodle's plot,
So don't be fursecuting me; you tried to make a pheasant hot!
Me, I show people how things are, especially when it ain't pretty;
Never pandering, I keep real even with the nineteen-fifties!
I'm a wiz at tackling the heavy: drugs, war, segregation,
All while channelling pop music's power through the generations!
I beat South Park to T.V.; made even Nicktoons take some pages.
In provoking Disney's Renaissance, you brought your own Dark Ages!
Using someone else's character as your mascot? For shame;
She'll get flung clear across the valley like what should have been her name!
In any case, your Dr. Seuss schtick is a game two can partake in,
So here, kitty, kitty: come and bust rhymes harder than your rating!
I'll leave you breathless as when Fievel's ballad lost to aviators;
Make sweet music with the innards of your big-lipped alligator!
Bitch, you make Dom DeLuise look like some kind of Killer Tiger;
C.N.R.'s butch next to you!
A canine standing between cat and mouse; what is this, Tom and Jerry?
My next creation, by contrast, need not be high to roll with fairies,
So hold on together tight, now, not that you'll be spared his wrath
See, I'm the bigger man
I'll put Charlie deeper undersea than his film's competition!
A damn brontosaurus's demise was your high-point of drama;
What are rodent immigrants' woes against the Belinskys' saga?
There; we fixed your history!
That movie might as well have told the happy story of Anne Frank!
Honestly, why couldn't you have stuck with shitty kiddie schlock instead?
I mean… The Pebble and the Penguin?
A Troll in Central Park?
Lying about the tragic execution of a seventeen-year-old girl?
To secure your biggest profit, you sold out in terms of heart;
Rasputin never crossed the Romanovs, but you betrayed your art!
Now, Holli Would come out to play if she were needed, but in truth,
Enough's been said, so face the facts: you're our announcer's husband, Bluth!