All Of Front’s Lyrics

80085

A Little Bit Broad

A Very Unlikely Occurrence

Better At Rapping

Bizarro Genius Baby

Black Box

Braggadocio

Canadia

Captains Of Industry

Charisma Potion

Charity Case

Chisel Down

Colonel, Panic!

Crime Spree

Critical Hit

Devil In The Attic

Disaster

Diseases of Yore

Fast Company (30 Sec. MBA)

Final Boss

First World Problem

Floating Bridge

Forbidden Planet

Freedom Feud

Fresh Dog

Front The Least

Front The Most

Gold Locks

Gonna Be Your Man

Good Old Clyde

Goth Girls

Hassle: the Dorkening

I Can See

I Hate Your Blog

I Heart Fags

I'll Form The Head

In Arrears

Indier Than Thou

Invasion Of The Not Quite Dead

It Is Pitch Dark

Jacquelyn Hyde

Just Once

Listen Close

Livin' At The Corner Of Dude & Catastrophe

Machine Of Death

Message No. 419

Mornings Come And Go

Mountain Kind

Much Chubbier

My Sister

Nerd Versus Jock

Nerdcore Hiphop

Nerdcore Rising

Nerdlife

Oh, The Hilarity

Origin Of Species

Penny Arcade Theme

Power User

Pr0n S0ng

Rappers We Crush

Rewind That Back

Rhyme of the Nibelung

Romantic Cheapskate (Song Fight version)

Romantic Cheapskate v.2.0

Scare Goat

Secrets From The Future

Shame of the Otaku

Shellfishcore

Shudders

Small Data

Sockington 1M Theme

Socks On

Solved

Special Delivery

Speed Queen

Spoiler Alert

Start Over

Stoop Sale

Synonyms

The Council Of Loathing

This Old Man

Tongue-Clucking Grammarian

TP Factory Tour

Twenty-Six Hundred

Two Dreamers

Victorian Space Prostitute

Wakjakaga

Wallflowers

Which MC Was That?

Yellow Lasers

You Got Asperger's

Your Friend Wil

Zero Day

 

Guest Verses

Borken Telephone (by Rock, Paper, Cynic)

Challenge Your Audience (by Mikal kHill)

Epic Fail (by Ken Flagg)

I Like It (by Supercommuter)

I Need Your Help (by Doug Funnie)

Intervention (by Schaffer The Dark Lord)

Kabuto Party (by Kabuto The Python)

Look At Me (by Allie Goertz)

Mecha Mechanics (by Whoremoans)

Noggin User (by Wordburglar)

O.G. Original Gamer (by MC Lars)

Oneonta (by MC Lars)

Ping Pong (by Optimus Rhyme)

Plastic Submarine (by The Grammar Club)

Reset Button (by Random AKA Megaran)

Salieri (by Adam WarRock)

Soda Water (by Jess Klein)

Teenage Dirtbag (by Wheatus)

Wake Up (by Random AKA Megaran)

You Got Asperger’s

You got Asperger’s, this ain’t a barbecue.
It’s your whole afternoon though, lost down a rabbit hole,
looking for a timepiece, wonder when your date’s at,
wonder if she’ll visit you at all today — relax.
Wonder how many ribbons to expect in her hair —
to deflect talk of triplets in respect for the pair
or to stare at the bow made of four different colors —
didn’t notice someone talking to you: there were others
in the room, out in the gloom of the periphery.
To shift your focus for a moment is to give the ribbons liberty,
and that’s to suggest they make escape.
This is a secret from the future: can’t rewind like a tape.
Got to make the best and the most of each moment as it happens,
got to keep your eyes on those bows, got to trap in
your vision all four of them ‘cause this is a first:
she might have noticed last time that you like ribbons that are hers.

And sometimes you wish you didn’t. Sometimes it slips your mind.
But when she’s supposed to visit isn’t one of those times,
and you’re on one of those lines of thought that you encounter
when you’d rather your surroundings were quieter instead of louder
so that you could focus on other than a clock tick.
You don’t want to talk shit but the one who made the clock made the cog stick.
Minutes are violent noise,
obliterating what you thought of as silent poise.
Miles of boys before you done got crushed
out on a girl like that, her hair flush
with ribbons on all occasions and every day.
If only making study of the bow could stem its getaway.
Letter A S P E R G E R S:
wonder whether she’s so confident with alphabets
that she’d do it backwards skipping alternate letters.
If you offer demonstration, would she consider that clever?
This bitter endeavor: trying to predict a reaction.
You know you’re supposed to try to give the notion traction
but it don’t do nothing ‘cept make the clock tick.
It don’t even do that. Yo, you got Asperger’s, kid.

And I feel for you, son. I know love is hard.
Can’t even write down all the answers on the back of a card.
From the back and the far end of a cafeteria line
you seem to catch sight of a ribbon. Fabric shines,
and you abandon your tray, leave it clatter on the floor.
You haven’t planned it this way. You can’t look at her no more.
You don’t know what her eyes are like, whether she ever smiles,
whether anything other than how she wears her hair beguiles.
And while some apron ladies holler at you,
you clutch your left ear and stand still like a statue.
You could count cut corn on the floor without subtracting
misplaced fish sticks like Dustin Hoffman overacting.
Ain’t this already a scene in need of a fast forward?
Why won’t the lunch people hush, do they court discord?
You think you see a flash of color fleeing; it could be worse:
you could have known how many ribbons there are, if they were hers.

Lyrics Copyright © 1999-2016 by MC Frontalot / Published by Nerdcore Fervor Conglomerated (ASCAP)