Lyrics:

The Delorean was the time-travel vessell in 1985’s Back to the Future.
Come on, wake up
We have company

I slash monikers backwards (Watch)
Haggle proof, snaggletooth
Fabulous 5 Freddy Krueger finger discount bliss
Lou Retton dismount
Spin out of control to doctor basics
Bladed cicada wings offer awkward facelifts
Leak laser to fade shit

I splash commoner fragments, rattle crews, cattle lose
Fabulous four finger ringer, back-flip, discount mechanism
Sex distortion, terror born from old favorite phasing
Famous danger lacing agent, baby

Aim high, when a flying monkey swoops down over Dorothy sound system
To capture the bitches and Toto, two victims
Y'all pimps front on some indestructible day trip
With the lifespan of a box playing Public Enemy in Sal's famous
Feel dystopia vs. Elysium
Time ticks and the hand keeps feeding them
A billion try to bark revolution
When only knee deep in the medium, duck you lucked out
There's one out of every 99 fans on the same route
Another colossal blunder
Born as heir to Thor inside of spirit
Better scatter for your teepee
For every American sleepy teen parked in TV-friendly apartments
Carving this creepy nations of P.T. Barnums
(Where you at?) I'm right the fuck here right now
(Where you at?) I'm getting the fuck down tonight
(Where you at?) I'mma spread the fuck out something precious
Gavels for the guilty, rattlesnake bait for the snitches
Cackles for the silky, shallow lake wades for the midgets
Badges for the piggies that'll make hate seem less vicious
Shackles for the filthy, battle break plates for your interests
I'm a strap your dignity down and see what that bitch could bench press
Relentless, archon player
After-dark parking lot cipher slayer, roll 'em
Catch snake eyes in three dimensions for the artificial martyr
Freeze dried poltergeist, just add water
Excuse me sir, do you know how fast you were going? Fuck no!
And what's this in the back seat? That's a stolen can of Rusto
And who's that riding shotgun? That's the homie El-Producto
Pedal to the floorboard, DeLorean be gone, peace

Yo, yo, yo, DJ Abilities, break this shit down
(Simian Drugs)
It's ill, it's Ill Bill, Non Phixion, the cult leader
The reincarnation of the Yeshua bin Yosef
Getting my dick sucked in a strip club by coke heads
No doubt, y'knowmsayin, takin' over hip hop
Playing tackle football on concrete, what
Fantastic damage
Hitting you in the head with plastic magnets
The future is now, if you don't over stand, then underneath
We bomb the beef, get punched dead in your teeth, what!
(El-Producto may or may not agree with the opinions expressed on this segment of Fantastic Damage)
(Any and all complaints should be sent directly to 'suck me, you piece of shit')

I splash commoner fragments, rattle crews, cattle lose
Fabulous four finger ringer, back-flip, discount mechanism
Sex distortion, terror born from old favorite phasing
Famous danger lacing agent, baby

I slash monikers backwards
Haggle proof snaggletooth
Fabulous 5 Freddy Krueger finger discount bliss
Lou Retton dismount
Spin out of control to doctor basics
Bladed cicada wings offer awkward facelifts
Leak laser to fade shit

These faggots hit like teddy bears thrown against wooden doors
By a misunderstood teenage girl in a moment of self-importance
Call it off beat, jagged, ragged, form the pattern
The mere thought of sounding like those who you revere fills me with sadness
It's a burner tone and outline bricks with shifty throw up
Laminated for my friends who had to croak before I grew up
Among the wildly uninhabitable traffic of bad bliss
Where the tainted droids of dummy noise cancer get unhinged
See me, Kabuki Theater leader, disease clips
Trying to handle contraband of an applause meter tint, bad scrimmages
Played with collectible bitch emcee copper mounted miniatures
Retard flow bee holder business, the 'you don't show me shit' list
Megaplex is stress caress, all the time apocaloid
Bite bleak void, small world big noise
Since you're in the closet anyway, see if you can walk to Narnia, Skippy
Save the earthy wisdom, I'm immersed in millennial bad touch funk
Mayday man with 808 trunk
Ghostface tape bump, toolie clutched
Tony Robbins mantra mouth escape monk
Mega-magnetic MRI fingers scanning woman for breast lumps
C'mon chunk, you're not a fuckin' Goonie
Most of these advanced rappers grew up in the forest
I'm the walrus, sitting on my cornflake, trying to float out to the chorus
Sarcasm isn't advanced, it's the inexperienced man's preference
Criticism isn't smart, it's for the artfully dejected
Hardly holds the fluid, partly 212 crew, 718 create burner movement
Hybrid unfallable, funkadelic truancy smothered
Fell into the meat grinder like a classic Hustler cover
The silky legged ecto-thugs run and hug each other
For pilferers of sanctimony coldly pillow smother
First is the originator (me!), second is the influence (you!)
Third is the innovator (me!), fourth is the institution (my crew!)
Fifth is perpetuity it lives through the delusion
Before I hop in the DeLorean I shit in Mr. Fusion

(Great Scott, Doc)
We need to go back in time to when motherfuckers could rock
88 miles per hour, bring it back to the block and get (Mc Fly!)
Peel the fuck out before the lightning hit the clock
(Doc, Great Scott)
We need to go back in time to when motherfuckers could rock
88 miles per hour, bring it back to the block and get (Mc Fly!)
Peel the fuck out before the lightning hit the clock
Peace!
(Yo, that was a really stupid chorus, fellas)