Finally getting people out of my house, they gonna get the fuck out, of my house, my muthafuckin house, they gonne be out, my house, my muthafuckin house, I’mma be like fresh kid ice and sit in my house with a bone and bang that shit on the floor and the ceiling and be like this my house can’t no one take it away from me, not if I don’t say they can’t, and I’ll be the boss, what finds a fish that talks and tells me secrets.  I’mma be in a submarine going to thor’s house, and ma Heyerdahl’s gonna be like wuddup alf, you want some bread or whut, and I’mma be like bitch please I got bread flowin out my ass like what when they do those exercises on bikes and shit and ain’t no one gonna be able to say shit about that.  I ain't countin chickens but I'm addin up crickets and they all swimmin upstream and goin to the house whut the sleestax built.  read about it in a book.  they'll look at you with those eyes with no pupils and shuffle to the glowin orb and show you secrets that you never wen thought was crucial nor critical nor relevant but they were all of and none of the above.  name me three other amigos who did more and I'll eat my hat made out of fruit roll ups.  gratzi.