Similes Spread Like Disease
(E. Bush, B. Bush)

(Wockenfuss)
I met this girl the other night and she was on my jock
She said "You look just like Ethan Hawke."
And I thought she might ask me for an autograph
When she looked me up and down and started to laugh
"If you’re Ethan Hawke can I be Uma Thurman?"
I said yeah ‘cause she was hot like the mics that I’m burnin’
‘Cause my voice is like matches for an arsonist
Leavin’ MC’s alienated like a martian is
Like Johnny Carson is, you should all retire
‘Cause I got you in my grips like a pair of pliers
But it makes no difference to the BTB
And the White Mystery is my favorite MC
So if you see me and E-Roc walking down the street
Or if you hear us freestylin’ over one of your beats
You best to pack it all up and act like a tree
And leave us alone until you learn to MC
‘Cause I’m sharp as a knife and I’m strong as steel
And when I walk in Chopsticks you all know the deal
Give me a shot of Glenlivet and a microphone
And when I leave the place I won’t be leaving alone
‘Cause I got so much game I should be on the Deuce
And I’m such a b-baller I should have my own shoes
I’m on stilts like Wilt and I know like Bo
And I’m smooth like Sam Perkins when I kick my flow
I’m a lyrical Shakespeare with the rhymes that I’m bustin’
And when I heard your style it was much ado about nothing
Back in grade school they used to call me Bad Brad
And when I got a little older they called me B.Rad
But now it’s B-Dog ‘cause I’m all grown up
And my style’s so ill it’s got you throwin’ up
I’m in good with the ladies like Caligula
I’ll be bitin’ on their necks like Dracula
On a quantum leap like I was Scott Bakula
And I’ll be flippin’ up my style like I’m a spatula
What

(mystery)
check it
the white mystery moved straight to p-town
my brother b-dog says he wants to be down
i drink mad liquor like shakes the clown
i’m tired of your sound and your onyx-like frown
these mc’s all talk about shit i don’t know
i never had a groupie or a big booty ho
or anything platinum around my neck
microphone check, microphone check
so place all your bets on the cac team
e-roc, b-dog, drza 3:16
cuz i come to the ring to deliver power bombs
like i come to the mic like the storm before the calm
so memorize this song from the skinny white kid
as i blow up your computer with my ebay bids
all the shit i ever did will be written in the books
you’ll be readin’ about this kid with a beard and good looks
who took mcing to a step beyond
with just 2 mc’s and a couple of songs
and a general distaste for the state of hip hop
with all these mc’s singing they won’t stop
so i put my foot down and went downstairs
got the pen and pad and sat in my chair
and documented everything that’s wrong with mc’s
from the biters to the movies to the r&b
cuz the white mystery can’t get more real
a short white kid with no sex appeal
no record deal, no tech or steel
and a girlfriend that watches ally mcbeal
i’m going beserk like randall in clerks
and i still find it hard to go to work
and they say:
here comes e-roc he’s a beserker
i keep unkown like rafae ramirez
don’t come at me no matter what the beer says
cuz i’ll take your microphone slap it in the ddt
pull your pants down, put you on my knee
too many similes, they spread like disease
i give this decree to my enemies
i got more rhymes than a whore got crabs
i got a dope mc in the name of b-rad
i’ll probably be a fad even worse a star
and quickly disappear just like jamie farr
e-roc’s been known to close a bar
i can shake shit up just like the cars
i got rhymes that stretch from here to mars
and i’ll assassinate you no matter who you are

(Wockenfuss)
Cool as Cucumbers, one two three
B-D-O-G and E-R-O-C
And we’re not coming ugly like Willie McGee
And I don’t shave my forehead like Brad Daugherty
Waxin’ rhymes from my mind ‘cause they come out my ears
I’m shiftin’ up my styles like I’m shiftin’ gears
I never met a mic that didn’t like me
And there’s never been an MC like the BTB
I’ll have you in a dream state like you were fast asleep
But you’ll be eyes wide open standing on your feet
You’ll be sprung on me like an old school slinky
And through with all the others ‘cause their styles are rinky-dinky
If I had a celly it’d be ringing all day
If I had a pager I’d have to throw it away
‘Cause I’m a wanted man but I keep to myself
So if you want to hear from me take my tape off your shelf
And pick up your phone and dial 7-15-4, 2-20-2, 2-18-1-4
I can move your floorboards more than before
I can show you force like I kicked down a door
I used to have a goatee but I shaved the shit
And there’s gold in the saliva from the rhymes I spit
I’ll be goin’ all the way like the Battlin’ Bucs
And I’ll slap you if you say Wally Backman sucks
I shine like a tinsel-tied Christmas tree
Electrifying any MC that disses me
‘Cause the point of your rhymes is a mystery
I can’t even pretend like I’m listening
I’m sick like the Looper from the Bad News Bears
And I’m slick like Pat Riley when he combs his hair
And the girl who called me Ethan knows who I am
She’d rather he be me than me be him
Now she’s stuck on me like flypaper
Looking like Rose McGowan in Jawbreaker
And my rhymes are classy like Freddie Blassy
And it’s B-Dog yo and I’m high like DeGrassi

Cancel One Career, McMahon
(featuring Kaybee the Quiet Storm and BAM the Diabetic Superhero)
(E. Bush, B. Bush, KB, M. Breitenbach)

(Wockenfuss)
My rhymes flow like a faucet with no screen attached
And I never worry about how my fans react
To a word or a rhyme or a verse I spill
‘Cause I never had a fan and probably never will
And if I keep on writing these tactless rhymes
I’ll end up apologizing till the end of time
I make Sideshow Bob seem like Reverend Lovejoy
And I make Big Mike seem like Lil’ Troy
If I was a gamblin’ man I’d lose every game
‘Cause I got bad luck like John McClain
That’s why I don’t play with my scrill
And it’s ironic that I rhyme with so much skill
You’re MC Anesthesia ‘cause you got no feel
But I’ll be MC Orange ‘cause I got appeal
With E-Roc and BAM and the Quiet Storm
Now I’ll pass to Kaybee while the mic’s still warm

(Kaybee)
Who am I? Not a man rockin’ the beanie
But a guest appearin’ on a collaboration with CAC
While E-R-O-C reveals the White Mystery
B-Dog barks over tracks consistently
Simply irresistible is what you think of BAM’s lyrical
Delivery on hand blow your mind like Redman
And the squad that’s def like jams but it’s so so
Colder than a polaroid hot enough to take a photo
Graph of an MC, fresh like aqua toothpaste
Aim for a close up but hold up I don’t use colgate
To lace breath like shoe strings on tennis shoes
I razor these sharp skills like RZA of the Wu
Tang how I come is how I came when you hear this
Exercise hip hop just like a fitness
24 hours a day, 7 days a week
I’m lovin’ God plus the rhythm of the boogie that beats

(mystery)
from city to city! assassinate like frank nitti
kaybee just broke the mic (oh did he?)
well yes he did and i’m psycho like sid
and i talk so fast i leave marks like a skid
it’s the skinny white kid with looks like tim dalton
marbles in your mouth like your name was bill walton
it’s just horrible the way that you flow
in super slo mo oh no here i go
like flo jo i’m on track so get back
smack wack mc’s straight back they can’t react
so pack a sack lunch cuz i could go all night
you’re heavy like lead and i’m like graphite
i’m a sight for sore eyes when i’m seen on stage
you’re a match made in hell like puff and jimmy page
drop hits while you’re droppin’ names like stan
cancel one career mcmahon, here comes bam

(BAM)
Well I’m a wrap this up the way it’s supposed to be done
‘Cause I’m the superhero that makes the MC’s run
Out and play and when they look my way
They be covering up their eyes to block out my death ray
‘Cause I’m golden, making MC’s cower
Just like the golden child in Eddie’s finest hour
Bringing it up from Beverly Hills up to the Golden Gate
Right now in E-Roc’s basement layin’ it out for this tape
To all you wack-ass rappers all you wanna-be zeros
I’m a toss the candy at you like a diabetic superhero
Like Ghostface, that drunken diabetic
I’m a pack my own lunch and make sure it’s dietetic
From E-Roc, Wockenfuss, and Kaybee to boot
I’m out so hide all of your valuable loot
Shoot up some insulin and then I spark this J
Save the rap professor’s lecture for another day

Playin’ Pepper
(featuring Oatmeal aka Jose Oquendo)
(E. Bush, B. Bush, D. Bonniksen)

(mystery)
i blow up the mic like my name was john spartan
kick dirt on your rhymes like i was billy martin
what you startin’, when you’re steppin’ to the best
when the white mystery grabs the mic it’s no contest
i run this like ben johnson on speed
goin’ twelve rounds like you’re apollo creed
when i walk down the street lookin’ out for cullen drain
if it’s all the same assassinatin’s not my name
just call me e-roc i travel to different cities
expose all the truth like my name was jack gittes
bring your mitties cuz i’m leavin’ y’all frozen
too much boastin’ too much posin’ you’re dozin’
i’m chosen to deliver mc’s
to the holy grail of the m-i-c’s
the c-a-c bringin’ songs endlessly
partin’ the sea it’s the white mystery
i call out more names than a phone book holds
i wouldn’t touch your rhymes with a ten foot pole
i’m age old, i’ll defeat you ten fold
i got you so scared you’re hidin’ in the cubbyhole
the white mystery, b-dog mic killah
makin’ rappers sick like they got salmonella

(Wockenfuss)
I don’t shoot guns but I shoot my mouth
Off at any MC who wants to call me out
So call me cracka but never saltine
‘Cause the Keebler elves don’t want me in their tree
MC’s are stuck on me like gum on a Nike
And how do I know you bite me? ‘Cause you rhyme just like me
So say "holy scnheikes" then "oh my god"
‘Cause B-Dog’s electrifying like a lightning rod
And yeah I might be odd ‘cause I don’t make things up
And when I talk about my life I don’t fake and front
And if you need to succeed in this hip-hop thing
You gotta de-seed the weed and say "bling-bling"
So if you wear a ring made from platinum bars
Or if you rock gold fronts that cost more than a car
You should take some of the money from your fingers and teeth
And you should pay somebody for some decent beats
‘Cause can’t you hear that they’re weak, and can’t you see that it’s cheesy
To have a picture of your necklace on the back of your CD?
And if you don’t believe me, yo here’s the deal
Man I don’t even think their Rolexes are real
Hey yo of course they’re not, and these just some thoughts
So I’m gonna stop and drop and roll and pass it back to E-Roc

(mystery)
i call myself biff cuz that’s who i am
i leave you confused like a one night stand
tightie whitie is what they used to call me
now i go by the name of white mystery
e-r-o-c, i rip like james spader
in control of the force like i was darth vader
stop repeatin’, just know that you’re beaten
i’ll outsmart you like i’m alex p. keaton
stop cheatin’ when it’s time to test skills
like destiny’s child i got bills bills bills
i deliver my lines like kozmo.com
as i hand the mic to my man d-bon

(Oatmeal)
Well now hold up E, they call me Oatmeal now
I got a barrel full of Pabst in the back of my house
You wanna come on in you put your game face on
‘Cause you’re goin’ beer for beer with the human tampon
I’m like Tampax, absorbing all the liquid
And you can wrap me up because I’m just that gifted
Oatmeal, leavin’ MC’s knock-kneed
I keep it up on the mic like my name was Jake Steed
(so what you need?) Hey yo I need another rhyme
But I’m like a drunk drummer ‘cause I’m always out of time

(Wockenfuss)
The rhyme
Grab onto these words if you think you’re prehensile
‘Cause I write ‘em all down with a #2 pencil
My utensil, it’s a stencil on the sheet
And MC’s are left defenseless like they’re lyin’ in the street
When I drive the beat, could you please indulge me
‘Cause I come from all angles like Kent Tekulve
If there was a game to be saved then you know I saved it
Me and E-Roc bring the show like Bob and David
I’ll be stickin’ in you like an acupuncture needle
And I’ll be sleeping all I can like my name was Beetle
Bailey, I’m a comet like Haley
Playin’ golf drunk like if I was John Daly
I make Pimpbot 5000 look like R2-D2
And you blow so much smoke that it’s hard to see you
But it’s nice to meet you, call me BTB
Could you pass the broccoli ‘cause I don’t eat meat
So yo take yourself a seat and take a deep breath
Because you’ll need it when I heart punch you in the chest
It’s a three man job but I’m not a stooge
And I’ll keep your head spinnin’ like a centrifuge
We’re rumored to be huge like Milton Berle
And the CAC team’s taking over the world

Bill Bixby
(E. Bush, B. Bush)

(mystery)
i’m a minor threat on the m-i-c
and i’m like a genius ‘cause you don’t test me
underestimate me, yo you’ll get embarrassed
because i’ll be here forever like robert parish

(Wockenfuss)
I’m like a sword ‘cause I’m comin’ with a double edge
One side that likes you and one side that says
If you step to B-Dog and say what’s up
I’ll offer you a warm glass of shut the hell up

(mystery)
i’m the greatest mc that you’ve never heard
‘cause i’m whiter than the underarms of larry bird
don’t be absurd and try to test e-roc
b-dog’s causin’ scandals like the black sox

(Wockenfuss)
And I’m breakin’ rhymes down like a cardboard box
You’ll catch a verbal beatdown like a sack of rocks
B-Dog’s comin’ hard just like petrified wood
Did you know I’d bring the dopest rhymes? I knew I would

(mystery)
well it’s understood that the cac team
is bendin’ the rules of this hip-hop scene
so if you like just call me johnny v.
cuz i’ve put together what i call the dream team

(both)
So call me Dino Bravo, call me brutus beefcake
And our rhymes are white and fast like the speed you take
i don’t chase the dragon, I don’t ride the snake
Amped up on rhymes so we’re wide awake

(Wockenfuss)
MC’s are always fake, like their girlfriend’s nails
And their rhymes are cheap and tacky like a sidewalk sale
And they’re over priced just like vintage clothes
And their styles are transparent like pantyhose

(mystery)
i’m like ray quick because i blow up shit
and when i’m on the mic it’s a verbal drop kick
and it makes me sick hearin’ your lyrics
and i’m workin’ all day like dante hicks

(Wockenfuss)
I’m a magician with my bag of tricks
And my rhyme style’s fat like Jiminy Glick
And yo I brought the pain but it wasn’t invited
I make these rhymes up faster than I can write ‘em

(mystery)
but don’t try and bite ‘em or i’ll make you blush
i’m like orange soda cuz i’ll leave you crushed
i got a big brother like in 1984
we bring it like the UPS right to your door

(Wockenfuss)
So yo here’s some more as I shoot and score
These MC’s are played out like Pauly Shore
So hey buddy, I’m coming like a car wreck
Whiplash so bad it’ll break your neck

(mystery)
you’re like david arquette, your jokes aren’t funny
i’m laying down the law like my name was jack tunney
i’m playin cac while you’re always bumpin’ yanni
mc’s be cryin’ out "yo sweep the leg johnny!"

(Wockenfuss)
So grab a body bag, I’m waxing on and off
MC’s are filled with feathers ‘cause they’re just that soft
And I’ll be drinkin’ Caucasians like that dude Lebowski
Or I’ll be drinkin’ Wild Turkey like Charles Bukowski

(both)
i’m like the halo benders, i don’t make no junk
I’m like Raymond Carver, I’ll be writin’ drunk
i’m like superchunk when i’m tossing seeds
I’m like Meth Tical ‘cause I’m all you need

(mystery)
hey yo peep this b, they ain’t hearin’ me
and i’m puttin’ mc’s in therapy
they’re all scared of me cuz i’m on the scene
cuz i’m clearin things up like antihistamine

(Wockenfuss)
I know what you mean, ‘cause I’ve been there too
But I’ve never been in jail like most of the Wu
But yo I’m comin’ through, like a clutch pinch hitter
Purifying my rhymes like a Brita pitcher

(mystery)
i’m like ishtar, cuz i’ve never been seen
in control of the mic since i was seventeen
like charlie sheen, hot shots part deux
it’s the cac crew i got the pete’s summer brew

(Wockenfuss)
So who’s afraid of me? Well you all should be
‘Cause I might hulk out like Bill Bixby
My rhymes so deep they make you stop and think
While I knock your teeth out like Leon Spinx

(both)
call me marvin hagler, call me Sugar Ray
Knockin’ out MC’s with our verbal display
no matter what you think, we ain’t goin away
And this is what we call our salad days

Sparing No Feelings
(featuring C-Dog)
(E. Bush, B. Bush, C. Drain)

(mystery)
i got a saber like luke when it’s time to rhyme
step to the sideline it’s my time to shine
your style’s played out i heard it through the grapevine
this mic is mine try again next year
give me three cheers: hip hip hooray
the cac team is here to stay
these other mc’s don’t know what to say
calling headquarters – "may day may day"
callin’ out ho’s like my name was jim duggan
talkin too fast from the jolt i was chuggin’
i’m like porno, you’re ashamed of me
but when you’re alone you’ll be playin me
it’s a mystery mc’s are pissed at me
but they’re all too scared to start dissin’ me
i like ‘em double d like christina ricci
i keep all my rhymes in a pee chee
i’m a rhyme machine e-roc 5000
mc’s are m.i.a. like robert townsend
carefree devotee with a warranty
if you ain’t feeling me you’re a scared mc
with a wack cd with a five minute intro
you and your boys talking in the studio
even worse, that’s just the prelude
cuz every other song is a pointless interlude
came to change the game name’s still the same
so if rap sucks i got me to blame
i’m the cracka mc you heard about
with rhymes you hear through word of mouth
i wanna end this verse tight and strong
but i’ve spent all night on this song
don’t turn that dial c-dog’s comin’ along
i’ve been killing this mic for way too long

(C-Dog)
Burnin’ up the mic it’s the crazy azz crackaz
Movin’ so fast GPS can’t track us
Comin’ out the basement rising to the top
Wipin’ up the industry like a fuckin’ mop
C-Dog ho macka sparin’ no feelings
All I here to offer are my sexual healings
That’s all the girls get but there ain’t no better
Break ‘em off a slice not Swiss but cheddar
That’s all she could take, the head of the snake
Swimmin’ in your lake you gotta take a break
From the cracka head rush, you can’t get enough
No matter how you want it you gotta come rough
Comin’ out of nowhere like a mirage
Creepin’ up behind you in camouflage
Invadin’ your head with my genius-like words
Knowledge rainin’ down dropping in like turds

(Wockenfuss)
Johnny Wockenfuss oh yeah that’s me
My words are absurd like blasphemy
Life’s a gas to me, there’ll be no passing me
Getting crass and saying ass is just a blast to me
So have a glass of tea and slip on some slippers
Before you slip and bust your lip like Jack Tripper
And the CAC is like Three’s Company
Just me and E-Roc and DRZA 3:16
My rhymes are tight like Jordache jeans
Clinging to the ass of a disco queen
My rhymes are cherry like a cough drop
And they’re sweet like the syrups in a coffee shop
I’m stimulating like espresso but I’m white like chalk
MC’s are left cancelled like a drama on Fox
Yo, like Luke Perry, you’re barely on
Had a career, but now you’re gone
I’m like Sean Penn, beating the media
Smashing your camera while I’m meeting and greeting ya
Unseating ya, there’s no way to fix it
My rhymes intertwine like a shredded wheat biscuit
I’m sick with it, wrapped up like a tomb
I sizzle like the rocks in a sauna room
Like Humpty Hump I like the girls with the boom
And I once got busy in a Wal-Mart bathroom
I’m representin’ the CAC clique
The 503 boyz got you in the mix
With these Casio white boy hip hop hits
And I hold my words tight in my clenched fist
So you can taste ‘em when I bust your lip
And you can feel it when I grab my dick
We’re cool as cucumber and we just won’t quit
And you heard it here first Wockenfuss is the shit
I’m the shit

Critical Theory
(E. Bush, B. Bush)

(Wockenfuss)
I’d say I’m back from the dead but I never died
And if you kill me it’s triple homicide
Because I’m coming on the mic with the power of three
And you’d need quite an appetite to devour me
I’m bringing rhymes to the table like a potluck lunch
I’m yo I’m tropical the ladies call me white fruit punch
I’m insulting like Triumph when I go for the mic
And I’d be Evil like Kenevil on a motorbike
But I keep it low-pro in my ’87 Jetta
And my words are first class like I’m sendin’ you a letter
Clown you on the mic like I was Herschel Krustovsky
So if you’re steppin’ up you best to back up off me
‘Cause I’m crazy like my name was Joe Davola
But my name’s B-Dog and I don’t roll over
For you or anyone in your crew
And your rhymes are like boredom nothing better to do
But me, I’m coming like oxygen
Bringing you back to life so you can breathe again
It’s like a crime scene: who what where and when
And my rhymes are dope like pure heroin
But don’t inject your vein, just put up your ear
‘Cause I’m like Henry Chinaski when I down a beer
I don’t need a break, just hand me another
And E-Roc’s my partner but he’s also my brother
You can’t tell us apart, you think it’s sounding bad?
We can’t help it that we had the same Mom and Dad
So if you’re confused I can see your side
‘Cause we use the same mind when we write these rhymes
But we got the greatest voice of all time
So it doesn’t really matter if it’s he or I
Jus t remember the letters CAC
The B-D-O-G and the E-R-O-C
And here’s five more: G-R-E-A-T
Check it in the dictionary there’s a picture of me
With no gold chains and no 9M Glock
Just me and Pocaroba call him E-Roc
We redefined the shit, so gold we mine the shit
And it’s coming out so bright that we be blinding shit

(mystery)
so why you wanna mess with e-roc and b-dog
when we got more songs than a phonolog?
he’s the btb (He’s the White Mystery)
and your style’s played out like an lbst

(Wockenfuss)
So yo check it E, I’m pure philosophy
I bring critical theory like Socrates
And my rhymes are like Plato ‘cause they make you think
And my styles are inventive like John Frink
So yo E (yo!) What’s shakin’ G?
(i’m just lovin’ these hits that we’re makin’ b)
And the formula is just you and me
503, 313, and the CAC

63 Movies
(E. Bush)

(mystery)
i’m the top gun making contact like cobb
i do for dirty work what clerks did for jobs
400 blows rave reviews of my shows
got 20 episodes of g.i. joe
the city lights jacknife peel your eyes wide shut
malicious yer screamin’ i am spartacus
‘cause it’s back to the beach losin’ like the mighty ducks
found jacob’s ladder man it’s just your luck
uncle buck grabbed the mixed nuts yelled who’s the man?
i’m the only nighthawk in the midst of copland
to the limit i romper stomper nobody’s better
fightin’ troma’s war with the toxic avenger
bad trip, rhymes so cold they call them chillers
over the top like carol kane in office killer
i’m in the public eye like buckaroo banzai
tellin’ really weird tales like chip in cable guy
sex o’clock news stand by me now and then
ernest rides again my favorite deadly sin
yer freaked my lyrics are lush like ran
the mics are my joysticks just call me tron
if i was a bomb i’d blow up they live to start braggin’
my rhymes triple impact my beats double dragon
hey meatballs it’s the short white kid from next door
i’m home alone 2 what i call you meatballs 4?
like puppet master 3 i’m going back to the future
(Like in Reservoir Dogs there’s some Colors that’ll suit you)
you’re not pretty in pink you’re a deceiver in red
(When my rhymes Breakaway man you’re Better off Dead)
rocky I rocky II rocky III rocky IV
i hated number V heard he’s making one more
63 movies trapped inside this one song
slyrecords.com you can try to read along

Bill Madlock
(E. Bush, B. Bush)

(Wockenfuss)
I’m hopped up like a beer and I flow like a tap
And when I wrote this rhyme I pulled up my bootstraps
And my pen started flowing like a garden hose
‘Cause yo I come like Dylan Thomas when I write my prose
‘Cause you can feel my rhymes fill with a surly rage
But I won’t drink myself to death at an early age
And I’m waxing philosophic like a Mexican candle
Sexing up young ladies like Tony Randall
And I’m hard to handle like Otis Redding
So just give me respect and you can stop the fretting
‘Cause I don’t pack a gun so you won’t get shot
But my words might boil over ‘cause they’re just that hot
So let me stir the plot ‘cause I can feel it thickening
And like Wendy’s South Commercial I’m sickening
Don’t think you’re tricking me, this ain’t no magic show
But you’re like a dramedy with your tragic flow
These MC’s are so sad that it’s almost funny
All they wanna talk about is guns and money
How they’re gonna kill and rob so they can get rich
So they can flash that ice and they can rock a bitch
Quit that macho shit, you’re gun’s never been fired
And the gangsta attitude’s so boring it’s tired
And by the time they retire the year double G
It’ll be the year you all admired the letters CAC
So take a look at me, the B-D-O-G
The ladies puttin’ me on like Maybeline
I like ‘em tall and lean like Elizabeth Hurley
E-Roc was up late but now he’s rhymin’ early

(mystery)
yo with the b-a-m until 3 am
four hours of sleep i got the mic again
i’m makin mice of men when i grab the pen
puttin’ coffee in my vein like it was heroin
come again- you ain’t feeling this beat?
when you ever heard wuss-pop and hip-hop meet?
you’re like flip flop feet in the winter (you’re cold)
you’re like kid stayton but you’re dumber (you’re dold)
greyhound in my left hand mocha in the right
piss my pants drunk i’m awake all night
out of sight like that movie with clooney
no fifty dollar bill like data in goonies
no dvd vhs in the tv
in the background cac through the peavy
believe me, i’m not ashamed to say
cac stick together like bob and jay
canadia mania put the insane in ya
don’t stack this record in miscellania
all my friends ask where’s the brain in ya
back to the roots like mesepotamia
like castlevania i can waste your time
instead i write rhymes that’ll pain your mind
‘cause i reference more shit than .001
that’s dewey decimal ask your librarian
there’s the setting sun i got no more to say
(but yo you didn’t even reference wrestling today)
um, well, don’t get flustered
‘cause cac spike pile drive like brain busters

(Both)
It’s the CAC (and we always gopher glory)
Bringin’ all the funk (like my name was dory)
We watch too much TV (and too many videos)
Spend too much time (in our basement studio)
It’s the CAC, B-Dog and E-Roc
makin’ more hits (Than Bill Madlock)
e-roc’s second base (B-Dog’s shortstop)
MC’s are psyched out like Chuck Knoblauch

Wine and Sake
(featuring Stepdaddy aka Manny Trillo)
(M. Fargo, E. Bush, B. Bush)

(Stepdaddy)
(Japanese stuff)
I’m the Stepdaddy boy now you’re on my ground
Crazy azz crackaz takin’ over P-town
I may be only twenty I don’t have a car
I gotta drop a ten spot to get in a bar
But any cracka comes and tries to bite my style
I’ll beat you till you’re crying like my bitch’s child
Kickin’ it with E-Roc we’re both white like wine
You think your shit is sweet now take sip of mine
Back in my hometown once Japanese
(more Japanese stuff)

(mystery)
yo- stepdad does the beat e-roc does the rhyme
when we grab the mic you sound asinine
the trophy’s mine, just call me tom seaver
with a winning record like my name was earl weaver
my girl d-kath says i got too many movies
that’s like saying c-dog’s got too many doobies
call me jack ruby cuz i’m done assassinatin’
supersonic in the zone like my name was gary payton
calm and collected get stronger every day
like sex and wine we get better with age
so clear the stage and take the max on home
or stay and watch me elbow drop this microphone

(Wockenfuss)
Yo I’m coming third on this CAC song
And when I take vitamins I pee neon
I’ll turn nothing into something just to kill it again
And I wish I had the power to turn water to win
I mean wine- I just screwed up the rhyme
But my mind’s made of quartz ‘cause I’m so on time
So if you think I missed a beat you best to play it back
Or check your CD ‘cause it must be scratched
‘Cause I don’t make mistakes, no need for second takes
And the style that you’re using is a straight disgrace
And yo Stepdad’s comin’ in Japanese
Bringin’ you to your knees you’ll be like cracka please

(mystery)
if i was cru jones you’d be bart taylor
if i was a pitcher you’d be don baylor
he holds the record for getting hit by a pitch
so if you’re not a baseball fan now you understand the dis
i never miss when you are my target
weak labels get some fans and then they flood the market
weak rappers get some rhymes and then they yell and bark it
then they hear my song and try to talk shit
i ain’t havin’ it, sly records on the map
mc’s in the corner with their pointed hat
i mean a dunce cap, i want my funds back
you got twenty tracks but they all sound wack

(Wockenfuss)
I make up the rhymes as I go along
I’ll use a word like cohesive to describe this song
I use a word like misanthropic ‘cause it’s kinda long
Or a word like hydroponic to describe a bong
Or more precisely, to describe what goes in it
I carry a notebook and I write my prose in it
I’m human poetry, these word they flow in me
And if you’re hanging on you best let go of me
You can’t ride on my tails ‘cause I ain’t no coat
And I keep my voice box inside my throat
‘Cause it’s explosive, like dynamite
And my rhymes are like a pilot ‘cause they’re flyin’ right

Getting Worse With Time
(featuring Half ‘N’ Half, C-Dog, and One Nathan Under God)
(E. Bush, B. Bush, J. Friess, C. Drain, N. Anderson)

(mystery)
called stepdad said what’s the deal
back from japan now how you feel?
he said: "i got run down by an suv"
yo- i’ve just been chillin’ with the cac
and with the mic in my hand and b-dog at my side
i just wanna say we’re both glad that you’re alive
cuz all these things, they make me take a look back
without you i’m not so pretty to look at
but moving on, yo everybody’s telling me
rap’s a big word i’m the king of the spelling bee
you’re smelling me, the e-r-o single c
plus double d’s, equals three’s company
it’s time to see the white mystery
cuz you ain’t hearin’ me like blondie’s last cd
so check it b- i’m comin’ like kfc
quick delivery, original recipe

(Half ‘N’ Half)
This is Half ‘N’ Half gettin’ worse with time
Coming in your ears with my first laid rhymes
Run my own business fourteen hours a day
It’s an e-health and I’m on my way
I got my Nokia, a Palm, and an I-Book
Too many waves and my brain is getting cooked
So I’m joining on with the CAC
With Johnny Wockenfuss and White Mystery
To promote, gloat, and push the PR
I’ll be the Tom Arnold of this Roseanne Barr
Local, regional, then national
Soon to be seen on all the TV shows
Skipping radio ‘cause it’s not our best bet
‘Comin multimedia on the Internet
(Flash 4, Acrobat!)
Adobe Photoshop is where it’s at

(C-Dog)
Like Rick Lee, I’m sick outta both ends
Slangin’ more shit than a box of Depends
C-Dog’s in the place spittin’ in your face
Eyes so red like I just got maced
Sippin’ on the sizurp, smokin’ on the dank
In the weed smokin’ army I’m the highest rank
When the ladies see me they salivate
Now that the mic is warmed up I pass it to InsemiNate

(ONUG)
Hey there guy, are you busy tonight?
Take a walk outside with me and kiss your kidneys goodbye
InsemiNate, Master Nate, One Nathan Under God
I give your girls a hand for golden glovin’ my wad
Kinda karaoke sleazy when the weather’s breezy
I like my cheeseburgers greasy with an egg over easy
I don’t wear fleece with khakis or socks with ‘Stocks
I’m comin’ hard like Peter North in the money shot

(Wockenfuss)
I’ll run through you like a Chevy at a chop shop
And I’ll cut you like a homemade drop top
‘Cause my rhymes are sharp and shiny like a Ginsu
I wanna rap about things that I’ve been through
But my life ain’t so exciting so I plagiarize
And I’m like the UFO’s that invade your skies
‘Cause I’m mysterious, I might not exist
I might be disproven by scientists
But I keep coming back when you least expect it
And if you can’t find the mic yo it’s ‘cause I wrecked it
B-Dog and I’m coming like a pit bull
With rabies spittin’ foam by the mouthful
Half ‘N’ Half, C-Dog and E-Roc
InsemiNate and B-Dog the ladies on my jock
‘Cause I’m a bone machine like Tom Waits
And the CAC’s hot like Phoebe Cates

Sideways 8
(B. Bush, E. Bush)

(mystery)
i make a fast getaway like corey haim
while i’m straight commentatin’ like bobby the brain
cuz see it’s not the same claimin’ you can mc
and spendin’ a whole year makin one lp
cuz we did the latter while you were all talkin’
‘bout how cool you are man that’s just poppycock
got the key to the city like clark gable
call me a corporate chump? man i got my own label
like moe and mabel cac’s a team
your a and b rhymes are uglier than sid bream
like the american dream yo i’ll drop the elbow
and like built to spill yo i’ll stop the show
i can’t stop my flow i got too much to say
i could rhyme all day but i got drums to play
and neal’s got the bass and it’s up to his chin
johnny’s got a manifesto he’s about to begin

(Wockenfuss)
I’ll have you sick to your stomach like uncooked meat
As I’m dodging all your blitzes like Rodney Peete
Lyrical trophy winner, eatin’ tofu for dinner
Havin’ scandalous affairs like Seymour Skinner
Could I reference that show just one more time?
Well Edna Krabappel’s pretty hard to rhyme
So I’ll give it a rest ‘cause it’s wearin’ thin
But oh I’d like to make "D’oh!" like Homer Simpson
Had to slip it in like a quick ball fake
Really I couldn’t care less about the money I make
‘Cause if I can’t afford a mic I’ll rock a megaphone
And if that falls apart I’ll use a speakerphone
E-Roc you said it before but I could use the line
(i just wanna write and have good times)
And that means right now and that means right here
And my rhymes are crystal clear like a chandelier
So hand me a beer, and yo I’ll pop the top
And the mic won’t drop till you say stop
I’m like infinity, they call me sideways 8
And you’ll be wearin’ headphones when you masturbate
‘Cause you’ll be hearin’ me, MC’s are queer for me
Playin’ my CD so much your palms are hairy G
Don’t ask for charity, I can’t spare a line
I take the time to write a rhyme I wanna know it’s mine
‘Cause this is genuine and yeah I’m comin’ for real
Turnin’ my boring life into two minute schpeels
So try to locate the rhymes I bit for this
You’ll be like a teenage boy finding the clitoris
It’s not hit or miss when I’m on the scene
Yo I’ll sink your battleship like a submarine
And yeah I’m kinda keen, I’m the bee’s knees
So be polite and say please with MC’s like these
And the CAC is the team that plays
Not like Dolores Hayes, we’re not underage
But yo it’s like a haze ‘cause you can’t see me
And the White Mystery likes history
But when it comes to me, I like literature
And yo Johnny Wockenfuss’ll bring hits for sure
But if you’re looking for the hook it’s a lost cause
Yo we’re comin’ unhooked like lost bras
I’ll take a breath and pause but I’m not deflated
And any other crew is overrated
And I know you hate it ‘cause I rhyme so nice
So cold I’m hot I burn your fingers like dry ice
And it’s fright night, so scared you’re shakin’
Your boots are gyrating from the rhymes I’m making
Life’s so frustrating, yo I should know
Watching these girls get caught up in hot tubs and blow
But that’s all for show and it really means nothin’
And the only things I show are the rhymes that I’m bustin’
Put me on display like a gallery
‘Cause I’m an artist like my girlfriend was Mallory
So you can call me Nick, ‘cause I’m just in time
And my family’s tied up like a phone line
Yeah we’re busy like bees when we write these rhymes
We’ll suck you dry like mosquitoes in the summer time
What you’re catching from me is hypohemia
And yeah I’m coming Afterdark like Bohemia
I don’t believe in ya, your rhymes like a fable
And your words fold quick like a card table
Yeah I’m hard and stable like obsidian
And Johnny Wockenfuss yo he did it again
So yo here he is, yeah one last time
It’s the skinny white kid with the final rhyme

(mystery)
this is biff pocaroba and i’m comin’ half sober
born on the 5th day in the month of october
white chocolate mocha cures my mean hangover
in control of the remote like my name was ken ober
like colin quinn yo that’s my story
like matthew broderick yo i’ll bring the glory
‘cause the music comin’ out nowadays just bores me
and i’ll charm your ass off like shannen doherty
when you grab the microphone yo it comes so clumsy
you get shot right to hell like vernon rumsey
don’t get unwound i got perfect diction
your tired ass rhymes cause a fiction friction
no competition when i’m in the basement
leavin’ other mc’s in a dazed amazement
pocaroba, wockenfuss, yeah we think we’re clever
your new cd? worst album ever.

Col. DeBeers
(E. Bush, B. Bush)

(mystery)
it’s a cold rainy night 503 mystery
got my pen in the hand and my fingers on the keys
got my head in the hood prodigy like tiger woods
just knowin’ that the cac is so misunderstood
and that’s fine with me b-dog’s all i need
i drink long islands but i don’t smoke weed
one more vanilla coke b-dog’s tab i’m broke
half of my lines are stupid inside jokes
like call me jerry savage i’m a rebel when i rhyme
kid when i leave the stage you’ll be soundin’ like a mime
in your spare time you got me on your mind
trying to memorize my song line for line
yo it’s five till nine it’s a saturday night
i should be out drinking i’m at home with my mic
you can’t put up a fight so just put up your feet
cuz you can’t compete when i kick in the beat
like a guy in boxer shorts you got no support
you’re puttin’ me to sleep like a book report
rhymin’ is my sport first place of course
i might slur my words but i don’t distort
don’t sell yourself short you’re worse than you think
you threw everything at me plus the kitchen sink
as i drank my drink you left with burnt buns
i stuck my fork in now your career is done

(Wockenfuss)
Yo woke up this morning grabbed a slice of cantaloupe
Opened up the microwave threw in a bowl of oats
Which reminded me of a call that I had to make
I dialed up Oatmeal yo he was half awake
He said "I spent all night at Biddy McGraw’s
Woke up with two girls and without my drawers"
And I was laughing ‘cause you hafta start clownin’ Oat
When it sounds like a frog’s crawled down his throat
Then I hung up the phone and I fed my cat
My feline’s like my rhymes you best believe she’s fat
So having mentioned that, here’s the rest of what happened
I grabbed my backpack and got ready for rappin’
‘Cause E-Roc’s waiting in the basement with the digital 8
And the mic’s got phantom power makes B-Dog sound great
I’m a menace like the phantom and you’re sure to know
I’m cool like the devil in Dante’s Inferno
So yo here we go and yo here’s my flow
And I’ll be servin’ up shit like my name was Moe
‘Cause I’ll hit you like an Irish car bomb
While I’m standing strong and steady like the Parthenon

(mystery)
cac’s bringin’ shit you can’t get at best buy
e-roc’s bringin’ rhymes better than the next guy
if you step to me you’ll lose at best tie
might as well assume the fetal position and just cry
my oh my you’re not worth my time
there’s a fine line we work like frank grimes
b-dog is to e-roc what lemon is to lime
on our own we’re both good but we’re better combined
i can’t make up my mind whose crew’s the worst
i make your seams burst when i drop a verse
the whole crowd dispersed when you opened your mouth
sayin "that kid e-roc what’s he all about?"
at home on my couch, wrestling’s on tv
not the new shit but wrestlemania III
as you can see you can’t possibly
defeat the cac with your monotony
there’s a spot for me in everyone’s ears
i can go on for years like col. debeers
like cliffy on cheers my knowledge has no use
i’m so damn acute while you’re comin’ obtuse

(Wockenfuss)
Hey yo I broke it down once but I’ll do it again
Making MC’s disappear like Sherylin Fenn
I got a ball point pen that’s attached at the wrist
And it’s a fact that you’re a rapper much wacker than this
And yo I’m cooking up the rhymes that I’ll be feedin’ ya
As I reference shit like encyclopedias
So you can call me MC World Book
Or Britannica Dog could be my new hook
So yo take a look, respect the time this took
And I’d have to say Ronnie Dobbs is my favorite crook
‘Cause he’s high profile all over the world
We’re brothers like Grimm for all the boys and girls
In this poison world I’m like a remedy
I go fine with wine like bread and cheese
So grab yourself a hunk of gouda and a cabernet
‘Cause we only put out the best like Anchor Bay

You Blew It
(featuring BAM the Diabetic Superhero)
(E. Bush, M. , B. Bush)

(Wockenfuss Intro)
This is Johhny Wockenfuss and I’m my way out the door
To go catch a drink with Oatmeal at Chopsticks so I’m
Not gonna be on this track, I’m gonna leave it up to E-Roc and BAM.
And don’t get confused when you hear these guitars,
These aren’t no rock and rap words,
‘Cause we don’t wear our fitted caps backwards.
So E-Roc, what’s up?

(mystery)
yo call me gobstopper cuz i’m always everlasting
on the microphone i’m like stallone i bring the action
i’m closed captioned for the hearing impaired
i wear gap boxers instead of underwear
i like my girls to be shaped like a pear
but don’t swear when i woo! like my name was ric flair
i don’t care if crackas stop and stare
when e-roc’s got bam yo "it’s just not fair!"

(BAM)
Here I go again with my pad and my pen
Tearing down the tracks to build them up once again
With E-Roc the producer, Faith No More we looped ya
And if my name was Frito Lay well then I’d have to scoop ya
Up like chili or a dip
But let me flip this script for 45 Minute Lick
Before my words start to trip, lyrical marksmanship
And E-Roc ain’t never letting the record skip

(mystery)
i never slip when bam’s got my back
i’m such a mystery i got a call from robert stack
i’m playing blackjack and i pulled a twenty one
and i don’t own a gun ‘cuz i don’t need one
like the supersuckers, i’m hot like the sun
i go back and forth like a conversation
i keep your attention like a television
fans ask about hooks but i never needed one

(BAM)
And here it is, now I won’t be held accountable
By any other sucker that thinks my ship is drownable
‘Cause I float like root beer so give me the cream
Start yelling ice ice I’m a turn red and scream out
Any obscenity that deserves to be heard
Did I grow up in the ghetto? No I’m straight from the ‘burbs
‘Cause my verbals make you moan like herbal essences do
Hand off the microphone and E-Roc come on through

(mystery)
why thank you, don’t mind if i do
it’s the short white kid with the red subaru
and i’m coming thru at a speaker near you
and like the odb i’m a crash your crew
so what’s wrong with you? yo here’s the answer
i once was the learner, now i’m the master
e-roc’s the ax, bam’s the smasher
we’re the cac and we’re a walking disaster

(BAM)
A flycatcher of a rapper and I’ll swat you down
Like Clubber Lang I’m a have to take you round for round
Pound for pound, slap your old manager down
Sorry Mickey, is that your damn face in the ground?
‘Cause it’s the CAC just roughin’ it up
An d like paper mache I’m a make the cut
Like Barry White never ever gonna give it up
And I’m a never ever ever bust a premature nut

Antarctica
(E. Bush, B. Bush)

(mystery)
i’m sick of going shopping
i walk into the store and i say hey!
are there any good cd’s out today?
and they say no man, it’ just that same cd
it’s just got a different name on it
i don’t want you to be on my team
i don’t want a part of the rap-rock scene
i just wanna write and have good times
make good beats and kick good rhymes
mc’s today is all about green
black leather coats and mtv
how many girls fit in the humvee
and the first week sales of the new cd
record companies tell fibs when they say:
"his cd sold gold first day"
the truth is that’s how many you made
and sold to the stores for their front display
where it gathers dust cuz shit is overpriced
and change over styles cuz your label’s advice:
"we want two songs for the radio-
"one about drugs one about shady hoes
"the other sixteen we don’t give a shit"
eight about guns and eight lousy skits?
i work in a record store i see it every day
you sold yourself out but you got airplay
in the interview you say it’s all about biz
you’re a businessman that’s how it is
so basically i should spend nineteen bucks
so you can buy a suit and play dress up?
that’s fucked

(Wockenfuss)
Yo- I’m sick to my stomach E (why?)
‘Cause these rap-rock fools keep comin’ G
Bragging ‘bout this whole new style they made
But kid remember when you rocked a hi-top fade?
Now it’s straight out the trailer, straight out the trash
But only because you were straight out of cash
Now I see you on the cover of these magazines
Jocking a limousine with these porno queens
You started rapping ‘cause you didn’t have the voice to sing
And kids who buy your records are no older than fourteen
I’m tired of this bubblegum MTV pop
Being marketed to these kids as hip hop
I guess all you really need are some baseball hats
Some dreads, a guitar, and a couple of tats
And if you rap about weed it’s as simple as that
To sell records to these brainwashed teenage brats
Who are force fed this trash like every day
And yo I hate MTV in like every way
I don’t care about Tech Money and these kids
And all the bling-bling in the hip hop biz
I don’t need to watch these happy-go-lucky fools
With their big booty ho’s and their swimming pools
You sell some records now you wanna be a business man?
But teenage girls are your only fans
And they’re gonna grow up and realize the fact
That grown men yelling "Nookie" is just totally wack
And that big toilet that you keep on stage
Couldn’t start to hold all the shitty songs you’ve made
I don’t talk about pot, trying to be something I’m not
Maybe that’s why I rap about nothing a lot
‘Cause I don’t shoot people, don’t really do drugs
And the CAC team ain’t a gang of thugs
We’re just some pretty white boys from the 503
He MC’s about TV yeah you know that it’s me
And Wockenfuss ain’t the same as BTB
But if you put the two together you’d be looking at me
And the way my rhymes flow it’s like ventricular
And when I’m driving on the mic it’s like vehicular
Homicide every goddamn time
‘Cause I’ll be running you down with every goddamn rhyme
And I don’t watch MTV ‘cause it’s a waste of time
And if you snort coke you should check your mind
‘Cause yo it’s not 1979
And that shit’s white trash like a box of wine
So ba-wit-a-ba-di-dang-di-dang-dang
This rap-rock fad has got to change
‘Cause it’s straight giving us white boys a bad name
I wear my hat backwards just to get laid
And the only thing I’ll be snorting in my nose
Is the smell of the smoke burning off these flows
And Wockenfuss is amped up like fucking No-Doze
E-Roc you opened now it’s time to close

(mystery)
yo- in case you’re confused this is e-roc
not the mc who likes bill madlock
that’s b-dog humpin’ in wal-mart
so here’s how to tell us apart
b-dog’s the big sinner, e-roc’s the saint
i say chod, he says taint
both of us never caught dead in nautica
both of us so white people ask "are you from antarctica?"
no but i oughta.