| I gotta beat this damn line, it’s only 10:50 |
| They open doors at 11, but yo I’m in a rush |
| I got the money to swing it as though I’m Ken Griffey |
| But so does this bum in front of me, smellin' like a Lush |
| That mental woman in front of him who forgot to brush |
| She’s in pajama pants, sippin' on an orange Crush |
| The door’s open, let’s get it goin, let’s speed it up |
| They lookin' up at the menu like they ain’t seen it once |
| «Hmm I’d like the carnitas and possibly the barbacoa |
| Actually, I’ll have the chicken, sir, 'cause my heart is slower» |
| But me, I get the same shit, every time |
| From the same kid, every time |
| And he doesn’t recognize me, every time |
| So I gotta say it over, every time |
| Normally, I’m not the type to bitch |
| But look, um, you’re being kinda stingy on the scoopage |
| I asked for double meat, and man I know you’re not a new kid |
| So why you tryna screw me out of food, you think I’m stupid? |
| I throw him 10 bucks, tell him keep the nickel tip, and |
| I grab a fork and grab a seat and eat it extra quick, and |
| Suddenly I’m feeling queasy, kinda extra sick and |
| Sweatin bullets, tell me what was in that bitter chicken |
| My stomach twistin' and turnin' and now my head is spinnin' |
| I stagger out the booth and bump into a group of women |
| They treat me like a leper 'cause I’m looking ill, as in sick |
| I got chills and I’m wishin' for a new beginning |
| I need room to sit in, I need a room to shit in |
| It seems like everybody else that ordered food is grinnin' |
| In a panic, I hit the bathroom like «open up» |
| But there’s no fucking answer, and the doors: they’re bolted shut |
| I try and get an employee and she’s like «yo whats up» |
| I said «I gotta get inside, I feel like throwin' up» |
| Well I’m prairie doggin' everything |
| I’m dancing by myself like Billy Idol tryna hold it in |
| Finally, I’m in, I’m sprayin' like an automatic |
| Ratta-tat-tat, and then all the puke and shit scattered |
| It’s safe to say this is a shitty way to start the weekend |
| I’m feelin weakened, got Chipotle comin out of each end |
| When you consider what I ate, it probably makes complete sense |
| Plus the guy that served it looked like three-tenths of a |
| Weakened dead’s (?) freak with a deep sense of allegiance to Pete Wentz |
| Hence the motherfuckin pretense |
| It’s lookin like I need some Depends |
| The bile comin out of me could fill up the deep-end |
| This is revenge |
| Montezuma’s |