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I'm gonna give it to you (bang!)
Dance party at six million degrees
When you turn to dust it's so erotic
And that's just vanity,
Quadafi-chic just comes so naturally
Gulag's get so boring on the weekends
So take your fluorides and your Idi Amin-chic,
Those neutrons rip the sweat right from your pores.
Just wait until you hear our 100 year plan.
You'll change your stoic little minds
(Time to utilize the chloroform and iodine)
But Captain Mandrake, he,
Can see though all out fun he,
Can't shake his hips to genocide.
He can't catch the groove in genocide.
Bring your lesions to the weekend
Bring your legions to the frontline.
That chic is nothing but a rapist,
And that's not the sun.
Your thoughts are like the kiss of an h-bomb.

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