Nerdcore used to be just a made-up word. What occurred?
MCs shied away from belief. Rest assured:
they sleep hard no longer. We deliver the hits
that give the kids with the spectacles spectacular fits!
I seen one nerd foam at the mouth in his glee.
(It was me, in the mirror, rhyming, brushing my teeth.)
And now the heezy we’s off don’t babble 300 baud.
I get no error while compiling my rhyme. The slipshod
rap stylings of the hip kids continue to vex;
they get sex, money, power, but their jams are like flecks
of sea foam against the great reef of my boredom.
I seen them trying to act cool; ignored them.
Scored some geeked out beats and a mic.
Some jugglers I kick it with don’t even know I rap — it’s alright.
For soon the whole nerdcore will congregate
in culmination of the monkey going acaudate.
The nerdcore could rise up, it could get elevated.
Oh, and wouldn’t all of those tough rappers hate it
if the nerdcore rose up and got elevated?
We consider the possibleness of this not overstated.
We put our styles in the blender and the tape on our spectacles
We compile the assembler; we’d each make a respectable
Egon Spengler; your despicable, heckling, snide remarks make it
all the more delectable to mark a Jeckyl & Hyde departure from the
Larger norm or previous status quo, the clever dicks
like us apply the baddest flow to limericks, and that is no mere
Rhetoric. We don’t just wreck shop, we mop the shop floor
With rappers who romanticize their third eyes when we’ve got four
Each, and we exceed your reach, we’re world wide
Webslingers with the combined military might of the Girl Guides
Dead ringers for the lone gunmen, or maybe Jonathan, Andrew and
Warren from Season Six of BtVS, we’re geniuses and we’re devious
We’re seen as fresh on the BBS where we write graf in ascii files
With nasty styles and blinking blocks,
this ain’t your father’s Lincoln Logs!
The Frontalot ownz j00, and Stephen Hawking r0x0rs
We’re not even talking solely to cats with argyle in their sock drawers
Our styles got the top score spot, yours did not, sorry!
Stick to the shockwave games, lickin’ shots at the top
Forty! I made my own Doom .wads, dickwad,
My own sprites and .mus files, I stayed home nights...
Nerd: when you say it you best say it with awe
‘cause I’m the type of nerd that will bust your jaw.
A nerdcore player, I’ve paid my dues,
got lowered suspension and chromed out shoes.
Hear ye hear ye, in case you ain’t heard,
20-aught-5 be the year of the nerd.
Nerdcore’s gonna be crazy large,
and we the N.I.C. bitch, the Nerds In Charge.
We bust more rhymes than Theodor Geisel did,
got more game than a 2600.
For punk MCs who playa-hate,
we got one word: EXTERMINATE!
Just a matter of time before we’re household names,
so you best suck up now before fortune and fame
put our asses out of reach of your quivering lips,
as we ride to the top on a nerdcore tip.
And I know that possibleness is not a cromulent word;
every syllable injected is intended to be the one you heard
(an absurd juxtaposition of mission and goal).
Frontalot: about to roll
his diploma up tight and smoke it.
Nerdcore’s about to sit there unless you poke it.
You want to prod it? See if it’ll kick?
While the smart kids calculate the hip-hop shit?
Got a vast network of subversives and criminals
who sit in front the screens, all heedless of ridicule.
These days, the complexion cleared up but the rhyming remains.
Still ain’t nobody knows my name
and I think the same thought with great regularity:
that I’m the best MC that I can bear to be
and I’m scared to be either doper or dorkier.
Bound for the high road even if it looks forkier...