“I have spread out my hands all the day unto a rebellious people...
Stand by thyself, come not near to me; for I am holier than thou.”
I’m so indie that my shirt don’t fit.
You wonder out loud, “Frontalot yo why you come so ill-equipped?”
Because being all prepared to get on the mic is selling out
and I ain’t even about to relinquish indie clout.
I look confused, like I just got out of bed.
My rhyme style reflects this.
Use my overdeveloped sense of irony to deflect dis-
missiles, exploding all around me.
Unpromoted, don’t know how you found me.
Soundly situated in obscurityland,
famous in inverse proportion to how cool I am,
and should I ever garner triple-digit fans
you can tell me then there’s someone I ain’t indier than.
(He’s so indie) Indie I be.
Ain’t an obscurer rapper out there who be indier than me.
(He’s so indie) Indie, and how!
Come not near to me, for I be indier than thou.
(He’s so indie) Indie indeed;
if I were on an indie label, you could call me mainstream.
(He’s so indie) Indie I am.
All the better for the Frontalot to leverage his brand.
“I am sought of them that asked not for me;
I am found of them that sought me not...
These are a smoke in my nose.”
Delving deep into my letterbox when I discovered
fan mail for MC Front. It kind of hovered
before my vision. I made a decision to open it up.
It said, “Yo, Frontalot, you suck!”
Whew! I was worried for a second that I’d started to earn love,
seeing all my indie points burned up.
Next you know, I’m meeting pop stars in stretched cars,
doing the soundtrack for the Wendy’s tie-in with Jar Jar,
paying rent on time, owning things,
suing Napster with my best friend Sting.
It’s like a nightmare (yep), ‘cause that ain’t nerdcore (nope).
Yes, I’m indier than thou within my nerdcore flow.
And if you’re slow on the uptake, I’ll lay it out:
hipsterism is a religion to which you got to be devout.
Must be seen as in between unpopular and hated
or else get excommunicated.