MC Frontalot все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Congregation, settle in your seats.
The Reverend Front Aloud is on the mic and about to speak.
I'm about to freak you out, make you shiver in the pew
while I'm delivering to you my sermon and divinity ensues,
brought by the one true God. It's a fact:
anybody else who ever had a God, their God's wack.
We ain't got to worry about ‘em; we picked the right horse.
You're in the right house of worship (of course),

[Hook]
Got to sometimes feel like, oh my god, life's so good

[Verse 1]
I'm on the cover of a lot — a lot! — of magazines
Note I don't say all. But I've been practicing
My big TV grin and charming banter
Interviewers, always follow-upping on the answers

Set up the mics, turn up the volume.
Everybody present, say "here" when I call you:
Schaffer? Yep. Beef? Hello.
Bought three movie tickets, got the front row.
Act I. Our plucky hero's home town:
Middle Americana, not a problem to be found.
A single dad of one son with a dog just trying his
best to make ends meet as a disaster scientist.

Yo! I crack the whip, you play the game.
Every encounter that’s obstructionary comes in my name,
so that you came to become obsessed with my location.
Clues to my identity: denied to the impatient.
Step up! I sense you’re on the precipice of something.
Me, I’m on the brink of delivering your lumpings:
make you load your save up for the fifty fifth time,
make you scroll through unskippable dialog lines,

[MC Frontalot]
Bright-colored robotic space rhinoceri
that we pilot — why? 'Cause they're in supply.
Plus, we heed the cry of our planet's population
to defend them. We report to battle stations!
Split screen — ready! — and our rhinos are rocket ships
with fully articulated tusk, jaws, and hips.
They come equipped with individual special attacks,

You are likely to be eaten by a grue.
If this predicament seems particularly cruel,
consider whose fault it could be:
not a torch or a match in your inventory.

It got narrated at you in the second person.
Every time you booted up, it seemed you got another version
of your life told to you by a status line blinking,

[Front]
Nerdcore used to be just a made-up word. What occurred?
MCs shied away from belief. Rest assured:
they sleep hard no longer. We deliver the hits
that give the kids with the spectacles spectacular fits!
I seen one nerd foam at the mouth in his glee.
(It was me, in the mirror, rhyming, brushing my teeth.)
And now the heezy we’s off don’t babble 300 baud.

Nerdlife
Nerdlife? You live in it.
No types prohibited.
Get your load balanced,
then you distribute it.
Upgrade your talents,
keep the crowd riveted.
Optimal, isn't it?

I hit L shift-O to the quote and then dollar.
If you know the dir of the nerdcore rhyme, you holler.

Nerd-ho! Warm the mic up. Yo,
we ‘bout to strike up
this band of nebbishes
who cultivate nebulous fetishes:
the FPS, RPG or MMPOG,

Get your most closely kept personal thought:
put it in the Word .doc with a password lock.
Stock it deep in the .rar with extraction precluded
by the ludicrous length and the strength of a reputedly
dictionary-attack-proof string of characters
(this, imperative to thwart all the disparagers
of privacy: the NSA and Homeland S).
You better PGP the .rar because so far they ain't impressed.

I put self loathing at the end of a string,
drag it after me, swing it like it wasn’t a thing.
And I can sing in Japanese; please, don’t say to prove it.
Maybe I forgot it when the music got interluded.
Who did? Front, tell a lie? Did he mumble?
Did his sky-high credibility crumble?
Double humble was he then, and polite in speech?
Did he make escape? Has he escalated out of reach?

Little Red Riding Hood was in good
with the food distribution, by her own volition
choosing to sincerely deliver
to old folks: succor; also vigor;
cheese and crackers; salt and coffee;
medicine to help the heart beat softly.
Awfully kind in her mission,
Red was (yes) in a head-on collision

I live in Baghdad. I had a million dollars.
After that last bad investment, I live in squalor.
Still got a grandiose house, but it’s run down.
Jackals take possession of it promptly at sundown,
on account of the holes in the walls. So, I sleep in the yard.
Huddled by the fountain, ground is keeping it hard.
I’d be deeply alarmed if I weren’t so depressed.
Keep an eye on the stars, I guess. Get some rest.