The Trick (Das Racist)

We're in heaven At least I think so, I really think so There's nothing really to get mad at It's nothing, really, no, it's really no problem! Everything overstood, overseen Big only those bold enough to dream big seem big Stack big, act big, Mac sauce Sticky icky, Jack Frost Tricky dicky, blast off Vicky-Vicky Vazquez Ask this kid no questions All kids kiss, no weapon, Smith no Wesson Wesleyan, no lessons learned Confession burn You make me wanna, you remind me of Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera Don't get it? Don't sweat it, just let it go It's better with no Geppetto, though It's really Heems, and I'm rapping with my friends People all happy cause it's happening again Comin' to our shows and clapping again and again Thank you, my friends I'm ill, people really love me I'm wack, yo, people think I'm ugly I'm ill, five hundred dollars for the boots I'm wack, I never tell the truth Four hundred dollars for the boots