[Edgar Allan Poe]
Once upon a midnight dreary, as I spit this weak and weary
I will choke this joker with a trochee till his cheeks are teary (ahh!)
But y'all don't hear me, all should fear me
I'll forever be better, you'll never be near me, your books are as eerie as Beverly Cleary!
You're a faux Bram Stoker, so scram, the show's over
Your flow's so-so, Poe's poems pwn posers (snap!)
I wrote 'em locked in a cave, while I sobbed in a rage
The Tell-Tale Heart beats soft in its grave
While this jerk just beats off on a page
[Stephen King]
You wanna talk shop, you gothed-out fop?
Go back to Hot Topic and shop for a top
There's a melancholy alcoholic laughing stock
In the King's house, now watch the Castle Rock
Pouty little Poe with an opiate affliction
I'm a workaholic with a fiction addiction
I'm making dedicated readers shivery and jittery
Feel that Rage and Misery
You better start Running Man, you're in deep poo, Poe
I'm a mad dog, fangs Shining, Cujo
Tommyknock you down till you can't Stand up
You're as soft as Po, the Kung Fu Panda
Racks on racks cause I pen fat stacks of frightening writing, have you seen the pile?
I can even take a break from my routine style
Crank out a Shawshank or a Green Mile
Masque of the Red Death? Barely blood curdling
Pit and the Pendulum? Not even unnerving
Perving on your first cousin when she's thirteen years old? Now that's disturbing
[Edgar Allan Poe]
Stephen, you pretend to do what I've been really living through
Like misery and poverty and family woes
I see through you like pantyhose, doing Chappelle and Simpsons cameos (ahh!)
Even if you're gripping on a weapon then you better get it stepping if you're messing with the horror lord
In a minute maybe, I'mma hit him, cut him into itty bitty bits and I'mma stick 'em in the floorboards
[Stephen King]
Ahh, speaking of bored, you're the worst
Dropped out of school but you can't drop a verse
I could have spent that time better
In eight bars I can write a whole best-seller
I'm so prolific, this sickly goblin won't be bothering me, I'm on a clobbering spree
And I'll be smacking you with any of the big thick books in my big dick bibliography
See, I'm the author with the blood and gore lore galore that'll horrify a reader to the core
Fame? Money? Talent? Success? You'll always have less (Never more!)
Once upon a midnight dreary, as I spit this weak and weary
I will choke this joker with a trochee till his cheeks are teary (ahh!)
But y'all don't hear me, all should fear me
I'll forever be better, you'll never be near me, your books are as eerie as Beverly Cleary!
You're a faux Bram Stoker, so scram, the show's over
Your flow's so-so, Poe's poems pwn posers (snap!)
I wrote 'em locked in a cave, while I sobbed in a rage
The Tell-Tale Heart beats soft in its grave
While this jerk just beats off on a page
[Stephen King]
You wanna talk shop, you gothed-out fop?
Go back to Hot Topic and shop for a top
There's a melancholy alcoholic laughing stock
In the King's house, now watch the Castle Rock
Pouty little Poe with an opiate affliction
I'm a workaholic with a fiction addiction
I'm making dedicated readers shivery and jittery
Feel that Rage and Misery
You better start Running Man, you're in deep poo, Poe
I'm a mad dog, fangs Shining, Cujo
Tommyknock you down till you can't Stand up
You're as soft as Po, the Kung Fu Panda
Racks on racks cause I pen fat stacks of frightening writing, have you seen the pile?
I can even take a break from my routine style
Crank out a Shawshank or a Green Mile
Masque of the Red Death? Barely blood curdling
Pit and the Pendulum? Not even unnerving
Perving on your first cousin when she's thirteen years old? Now that's disturbing
[Edgar Allan Poe]
Stephen, you pretend to do what I've been really living through
Like misery and poverty and family woes
I see through you like pantyhose, doing Chappelle and Simpsons cameos (ahh!)
Even if you're gripping on a weapon then you better get it stepping if you're messing with the horror lord
In a minute maybe, I'mma hit him, cut him into itty bitty bits and I'mma stick 'em in the floorboards
[Stephen King]
Ahh, speaking of bored, you're the worst
Dropped out of school but you can't drop a verse
I could have spent that time better
In eight bars I can write a whole best-seller
I'm so prolific, this sickly goblin won't be bothering me, I'm on a clobbering spree
And I'll be smacking you with any of the big thick books in my big dick bibliography
See, I'm the author with the blood and gore lore galore that'll horrify a reader to the core
Fame? Money? Talent? Success? You'll always have less (Never more!)