Like my scrotum here it is in a nutshell:
One thousand nine hundred and seventy-two,
That's the year I got here when my dear mother's water blew,
Not really realizing the prize that's been begot to her,
The bona fide, lo-fi, high-octane philosopher,
Genius with a penis, the few, the proud, the me,
I liked me so much I had to buy the company,
Soul for sale sold to Satan for a hell of a lotta luck,
I'm hard to come by like a straight guy working at Starbucks,
Thank the thinkers that think they thunk the thoughts that theorized,
Idolized or despised, bet I'm gettin' recognized,
Mount Rushmore it? No, ignore it. can't rock with no big head,
Half of the people want me, half of the people want me dead,
I am the Angel of Def with my rhymes against humanity,
Teeter-tottering between brilliance and insanity,
The one part the F\xfchrer the one part the Pope,
It's the inevitable return, baby, of the Great White Dope,