Yo, when I'm rhymin' Guinness gonna measure how I look Then put me in the record book, under "least effort took" I thought of that at my breakfast nook Inspired by the viewing of a distant picturesque brook It made me wanna start babblin' too So I grabbed a pen and pad and I dabbled in what I do, ayy I'm not a philosopher but I dabble in Camus My words are so absurd they should only be accompanied by kazoo No need to break it down like stomachs do I'm just messin' around, not tryna flummox you See, in another life, I was a professor That bullshitted his way through every lecture But he always dropped a hidden gem or two inside the mix Needles of knowledge in a haystack of parlor tricks But now I take a lax approach Mad smooth like a jazz school sax coach or Max Roach I take a seat then create some heat If I make a beat I do it for the sake of Pete I learn more from exploring new ground Like that fungal spore from the jungle floor someone found 'Round corners of your town hidden forces abound That might force you to expound on the source of your sound In my case, it told me I was born to get down, now get to movin' Since then I've come correct and correct, it's been proven Sunday afternoon style groovin' Since I was a young rascal I've swung for the astral As a human there's a lot of Babe Ruth in my joints The exception is it doesn't go the root that it points, and most Can't fathom the chasm The depths out of which sprout so many layers of neck spasm At this juncture Any avid listener is in need of acupuncture Many had a disc inside their back snap or rupture My rap sure fucks up your skeletal as well as muscular System, wisdom like a tooth to the jugular My love for this shit will make you look at your girl and say "Am I really in love with her?" Put this in your bubbler and smoke it 'Til you double over coughin' right over your coffin Call the coroner Order in the court, the report from the corner of the coroner is morbid and short, but they'll retort All those in support say "I" Life's a bitch so we're forced to stay high To rhyme I'm well-suited like a groom on a wedding day Well-groomed like a suitor tryna get some play Well-wishers hope I get well soon I craft well-tuned verses and I'm well-versed in craftin' tunes But they ain't all crowd pleasers Cry me the singer from Weezer, you old geezers A labor of love is a labor made of leisure I lay back and be heard, be heard Yo, they ain't all crowd pleasers Pluck out your nose hairs with some tweezers A labor of love is a labor made of leisure I lay back and be heard Yo, my name ring bells like a mother in a western When the answer's "now" and "when's supper?" is the question Later on that night the whole family suffers from indigestion RIP to Alex Trebek, a true legend