123 boom, and now I'm in your room, boyee. We're called CHUMP, man, and not a moment too soon. We got the treble high, we got the basses down low, We're coming atcha like a bomb and all you suckas know We're in the house, yes, and we're not gonna leave. We'll get you fly and hight and why? Because we're meant to be. We're coming at you hard, just like a Boulevard. We'll cook your brain so much so fast until your brain is charred. We're in your face, so jump around the place. D's in the house and he's crankin out the bass. We never make amends, we play with stuff that bends And when we're in the house you'd better watch all your girlfriends. The Bunkman's gettin fly, you know he down with that, The riffs connecting with your face just like a ball and bat. A girl came to my place, said I looked like a geek I walked up to her face and said, what the sneep? 123 bam and now we're back again, man. We'll crush the sound in your face, boy, until you think it's sin. So are you going large? So are you bonin' out? Cause Chump won't stand for less 'cause more is what we're all about. We're on the scene, yes, here with the sound that's new, And now I'm thinkin' that you're deaf before this show is through. Now are you feelin' fly? So go and join the crowd And feel the sweat roll off your face as we get muthaloud.

A cold bus drivin', a wack homie jivin', Yeah my posse is groovin', and my rhymes are thrivin'. The funk's so dope and I'm sittin high chair, Salty freak boy with the bottle of nair. Ya he's holdin' high and we're all so fly. Col' stopped at cosmos to col' get a french fry. The salty dog taste penetrated my palate So I hammered the sucker's face with my little red mallet. Tree of life, It gives us shade. Tree of life, We've got it made. Tree of life, I'd better run fast. Tree of life, I'm late for class We're coolin' on the street drinkin' Minute Made Jer's got the job, he's waiting to get paid. Captain Muflo's rhymin' dope with the air, Brutha's cheatin' in Monopoly, yo the game's unfair. It's the tree of life, like a big snowfall, Just like the SWKT but not as tall, Now I'm sittin' in the shade col' grubbin the hut, Yo Rupe's eatin too much, he's gettin a gut. I'm lookin at the time, it's ten past two. So I'm late again, man it's nothin' new. But now I'm struttin' in smooth and everyone's starin', But I don't notice nothin' 'cause my walkman is blarin'. Tree of life, It gives us shade. Tree of life, We've got it made. Tree of life, I'd better run fast. Tree of life, I'm late for class

The grass was too tall and the weeds was growin' so I got out the mower and I col' started mowin. The blade started spinning, now I'm cuttin the grass. Had to set on high to start busting my petutie. Walkman's on my head while my booties are stinkin; one hand on my nose 'cause the whole yard's reekin. So much I'd rather do and this job is so boring. Stepped in poo with my shoe and I can't stop yawning. Mowin my lawn with a funky col mower. My brow is all covered with sweat and grime. My ears are full blown from the volume of the rhyme. Detroit's on my head for protection from the sun, Shirt off to show to all the girlies that want my guns. Sly cold with the liquid from sweatin in my shoe. What's keeping me mowing is the cold Mountain Dew. Front yard's fresh but there's still more coming So I turn the volume up to the song I'm humming. Mowin my lawn with a funky col mower. Out in the backyard with the sun beatin down Wanna jump in the pool but taco's coming in an hour. Gotta get my job done even if I don't wanna. I gotta get enough money so I can take out Shawna. Drop a new tape and the juice starts to flow. Now I'm lookin at my watch only one lap to go. Take a shower, comb my hair, ask the old man for some cash. But now Shawna don't like me 'cause I smell like gas. Mowin my lawn with a funky col mower.

A random fellow strollin' down the way Mindin' his own business and enjoyin' the day. From nowhere comes this other Joe, Walks up to our dude and he says hello. Polite conversation is made for a while, But then the stranger starts to smile. Friendly enough he seemed okay, But the last thing our dude hears him say is Guess what? What? Chicken Butt! No! Next thing you knew he's in a body bag. It wasn't just another funny gag. Embarrassment caused the man to die Because of this villian's ruthless reply. He stalks the streets victimizing others Postmen and milkmen and little kids mothers. Falling prey to his villianous mind Innocent of his evil designs. Guess what? What? Chicken Butt! No! No one in the city now ever says what For fear that the reply will be chicken butt. People in the city don't talk to one another Every man is for himself, it's brother vs. brother. The air is thick with sirons and squeals of police cars Tryin' to find the man, to put 'em behind bars. People all walk through the streets in silence; The mere cluck of a chicken causes untold violence. The mayor is under 24 hour protection Thinkin' chicken butt is a form of insurrection. Fear among the public has become an infection. Men being hired workin' on detection. Is there no one who can save us? What can be done? There's no one who can help us, there isn't anyone. The devil himself has hidden away. For fear of the words that someone might say. People of the nation are scared OF WHAT? The man who stalks the streets and says CHICKEN BUTT!

People live in fear of the Boulevard man. He's a bigger, badder dude than homie He Man. He can lift four hundred pounds and fourteen cinder blocks. The brother's got biceps like a chicken's got pox. He wears his Harvard underwear around the hall. Getting pretty chummy with the RA named Paul. Guitar in hand, he's singin' songs about his poodle, Hummin' and strummin' the electric struedel. Boulevard Suckachunk sliva col' to the gateway, If you roll up on the Boulee, man, you're col' gonna pay 'Cuz my man is comin' atcha like a serve from Capriatti. Every 2 hours my man's going to the potty. Backwards words are flowin' straight outta his niarb. In the dark my man in especially evarb. He shimmys and he boogies and wiggles like a noodle. Let's not forget our reference to electric struedel. Boulevard He shares the same name with the great Alexander. Philosophical views lean towards Anaximander. Size small Harvards are his favorite fashion. Emotionally complex he shows much compassion, He wouldn't even hurt an innocent fly, But you roll up on him wrong and you're col gonna die, 'Cuz my man holds to the truth like a pirate to his bootle. Once more we'll refer to electric struedel.

Yo Rupe E. Was up? Well let me tell ya. What up? I got the funky freaky liquid in my cup! Uh huh. So drink it down, Son! huh? So drink it down, Son! what? I said you drink that funky liquid in your cup! Mo T! Was up? Let me tell ya! Word up! Well there's a funky freaky party in my hut! Uh huh! So party down son! Huh? So party down son! What? I said you funk that freaky party in your hut! Word up? 'Cuz I'm on the mic. I kick it down! Huh? I pull it up. What? 'cause when I get to the bottom I go back up. Word Up! I pulled front side 'chicken' And back side 'ham' I'm layin in the pipe and getting tan. So. . . The girlies they chase me with their tights on That's why I'm driving at night without my lights on. I'm like 'strawn' and then I'm gone Like a checkmate with a pawn and now I'm off to mow your lawn. All you suckas said I couldn't so I proved I could. Cuz like Robin Hood, I got the goods. I can throw it down because my name is Faah. I got the dope lap top but not a car. All the suckas are jealous 'cause we got POCO. That's why we're cranking it up until the heads blow. We throw the rhythm and the rhymes and now we're baking our burritos Now we're all fingerpainting to the sound of Mo-T. 'Cause I'm on the mic. 1. He had a Chump face 2. He had a Chump shirt 3. She tried to take him 4. She had a tight skirt So we're down playing pool with Ian (Ian) Talking 'bout rain forest depletion (pletion). So I'm wacky ouch with my pouch on da couch Now I've got an idea--think I'll take it to the freezer. Babies lookin all right sitting at the stop light, Looking at my feet 'cause we're riding in the jeep. I like boarding and chicks like that. Buzz is my friend 'cuz Buzz is like that. James G is the man like Stan, he's got the plan Gonna stick to it gonna pull through it He's livin' in fear of the female clan Cuz he saw the ring on the hand of the Boulevard man. My man's on the girl like butter (butter), Stickin' together like Hubba (Bubba). Hummin this song with my voice through a fan Cause Chump's in the land, fly like Superman Girls and Board and wallets full of green Jeeps and snow and soap on a string Local bands that sing really mean These are a few of my favorite things. Rupe's up next so hold on tight. Watch him go as he explodes on site. I'm doin it up I'm doin it right 'Cause I'm Mo-T and I'm on the mic. If I was Mo-T, I would be Mo-tinian And if I was the Bunkman I would be Argentinian. Look up and I see Mo-T drivin' in his jeep Ladies in the back seat and ladies in the front seat. The bass is from the car, man, it's not from the speakers 'Cause we're all so poor we got holes in our sneakers Holes in our undies and holes in our shirts. Now we're cleanin out paco fifty pounds of dirt. Pulled out four bags and another dust pan. Yo we got the drummer and the drummer is Dan. Puttin' Grooves in your head is what we consider money. Turn your head around and we'll steal your honey. Cuz my name is Rupe, I got the spike leather jacket Got the big P.A. and now I'm makin racket. Bunk's spendin' his money on his new bass strings Like Boulevard on his gold diamond ring. Now we're all here all the homies is back. My man Turbo says women is wack. If I was and actor I would be in the movies. I think I'm comin' down with a case of groovies. 1. He had a CHUMP face 2. He had a CHUMP shirt 3. She tried to take him 4. She had a tight skirt Yo, suckas in the hut Well lemmie tell ya whaddap: You gott a shake that funky backside called your butt. So let me see you bust a move, Everybody feel the groove. You gotta shake it like there's something to prove.

R-U-P-E, that is my name. In the streets of Provo I found my fame. All the wack homies are knowing me well because I pump my rhymes just like I'm ringing a bell. Coolin' on the street in my felt plaid chucks. I got a big rep like Daddy War got Bucks. I'm fly like a horse and wack like a slap. You step up to me, sucka, and you're gonna get capped. Cause I'm a BYG Brigham Young Gangsta They call me Mo-T, and all the suckas know the Mo the T, Jack, the mo the rhymes flow. I'm the captain of my ship, the king of freakylip. When I step up to the mic all the ladies flip. Hardcore music and the lyrics that kick. I shoved 'em in your mama's face and the woman got sick. Any sucka roll on me, the chump gonna bleed 'cause I got more ill than Johnny Apple got seed. Cause I'm a BYG Brigham Young Gangsta You know James G, he's a real fly fellow. He likes to stay up and he likes to eat jello. Cruisin' around town crankin' Jane's Addiction, reading Tom Harris and other fine fiction. Climbin' taco tree in front of Taylor lobby. Splittin' his poops is his favorite hobby. Holding his axe like a baby in a cradle, throwing riffs in your face because he's willing and able. He's a BYG Brigham Young Gangsta Vitamin D is bangin' on the skins. When it comes to speedy hands, brother D always wins. D is so fly, you're all gonna die. The drummer is tasty like boysenberry pie. Freaky freestylin col' cruisin on his bike, The boy's got moves like the SWKT got psyche. When he dies he's gonna go to drummer's heaven Cause the sucka can count to 147. He's a BYG Brigham Young Gangsta Bunky's gettin' funky on his bass called flunky. He's so hella manly and a power riff junky. He eats gangstas for dinner, always the winner. He'll roll up on any chump wanna beginner. He's dope with the ladies and he always gets fly. The brutha's so dope, he don't even have to try. When he throws down a lick, he makes lots of messes. Got more licks than Ed McMahon's got addresses. He's a BYG Brigham Young Gangsta

Well ok, so I'm sitting here with nothin really to do, so I lean over, grab the remote, and I turn on the tube. Nothing's on but Ed Mcmahon and something bout Lucille Ball, I'm bored so get up and grab the phone and give Brother Rupe a call. I said Yo, Rupe, there's nothing down and I really want to do something now so he grabs his git, gets in the car and the 'Prick starts comin down. But on the way he sees some joes who ask my man, whassup? He tells 'em he's widdit to jam so the follow him in their truck. There's too many dudes in my house. I don't know what they're doing here. There's too many dudes in my house. And I'm beginning to fear. Too many dudes in my house. I just wish they'd leave. All these dudes in my house, brutha you wouldn't believe. There's too many dudes in my house. We start our playin', fresh as can be, and I get on the horn with bunk. The man comes down to my place wid Flunkey in the trunk. He whips her out and what do you know but the doorbell is ringin' again. Open it up the the ugly face of Ryan and all his friends So they all pile in, and have a seat and listen to the jam till Bunk gets funk and wants to call the J.G. mutha man. J.G., he comes right over, with D not far behind, and forty five dudes who followed them now putting me in a bind. There's too many dudes in my house I want to jam so I keep on playin' and kickin' it with the crew, but people keep on coming to hear us play; there's nothing I can do. I try and try to kick them out but there's more than I can count. And now you see just what I mean and what this song's all about. There's too many dudes in my house

I looked like a fool in this morning's board meeting. Because of this dude we rearranged the seating. I needed a man, one who was cool, who was slick So I walked up to this fellow and I said, "Hey, Dick, I need your help with a certain kind of guy. I came straigt to you cause you're so fly. You gotta make him look like a horse's petute And every point he makes to the board must be made moot." So dick went in and started to yell. Every VP's seat had pretty much fell. He made the dude look like a fool. All the board members had started to drool. He turned to me, winked, and was on his way. As long as I live, I won't forget that day. He has an attitude just like Charles Manson So don't mess with him cause his name's Dick Cranston. He's a madman, Dick. Get out of his face, Or he'll beat you all down with his brown briefcase. I thought my dad was cool in his suit and tie, But that was before I met this fly guy. He's the rudest business man you're ever gonna see. He walks into his office and says: don't mess with me. The king of the board, a corporate raider, He's a suit and tie guy, man, and a junk bond hater. He kills all the weak that are in his way; Forty six people died last payday, Because he comes in the room and people run in fear And the buildings that surround him all quake when he comes near. And when my father died in the board meeting I looked at him in awe with no hard feelings. Dad was overmatched, he had no power; Dick smashed him down in less than an hour. He has an attitude just like Charles Manson, So don't mess with him, his name's Dick Cranston.

I was hungry as a mofo the other night, walking through the kitchen with no food in sight. Opened up the cupboard, I saw a cereal bowl, but in the box was nothing but a brick of coal. So I turned myself around to look for more food, but it began to seem apparent that I was screwed; the cupboard was bare and of food, I was out except for this disgusting plate of brussel sprouts. Col' eatin' brussels sprouts. Eatin col brussels sprouts, I'm barely forcing them in my mouth. Col' eatin' brussels sprouts. Sitting at the table dreading the horrible taste. Why this dilemma with which I am faced? Don't wanna put 'em where they don't belong. I just don't know what exactly went so wrong. Gagging getting them down without cheese sauce, nothin' to ease the taste, the salt was lost. Col ralphin' on the toilet after every bite. Why does this have to happen to me every night? Eatin col' brussels sprouts No matter what I do they're always there. No matter where I go I meet their evil stare. I can't get away from these, my nemesis, horrbile green spheres that taste like piss. Mashing them, disguising them inside my soup, but what can you do with a bowl of poop? I'm trapped in a cycle and I can't get out. I guess I'll always be eating brussel sprouts.

We're taking some time to throw down some rhymes so please give us your full attention as we declare unto you our credentials of which we will make specific mention. We'll take this opportunity to thank you very much for allowing us a portion of your time. In deepest gratitude we'd like to reward you by providing you with lines of rhymes sublime. So here it is: our name is Chump; that's what's written on our birth certificate. We are a band of many facets, renaissance if you will; a band complex and intricate. We've been called by some prophetic. They say our rhymes are medic. All our impersonators are pathetic. 'Cause we use the gifts we have to improve the groove for the people out there who love to bust a move. We're rhymin through the air like a boxing ballerina; graceful when we wanna be and other times we're meaner. Give us your clock and we'll show you how to clean her. 'Cause we're a band who thinks with mia maid demeanor. Lyrics coming atcha like your father with a paddle. You sit up and they'll shoot ya straight outta your ill saddle. Grazin' on the syllables just like a herd of cattle. You'll tattle when you straddle the praddle with which we fiddle faddle. Cause we're groovin' Our lyrics movin Right through ya Better let 'em move ya We've taken each step to ensure that you're set. Now we're kickin' your face with much style. With our rhymes in time we expect you to find very fine and well worth your while. Because Chump's in the house and we came here to rip your face our mic and our drama. Collectively we've got the talent and time like that proverbial banana got rama. High above the crowd we're starin' back atcha We're doing whatever we're pleasin' The sound is comin' atcha like a semi truck To deny that sucka is treason The music we're sending is soothin' your cerebral As you lose control of your functions Separated from the world on a journey of the mind Our vibes connect in utopic injunction

Here we are again, we're back, Comin' atcha live, muthahardinyourface,jack, Rhymin' one timin' within the city of Provo. So go, let's flow, MOFO. Having spent the past 720 days Working on a job, and one which pays The biggest dividends. But that job did end. So now we're back in effect, friends. We're being backed with a beat from Vitamin D. Bassline's comin' atcha from the brother Bunky. I'm on the mic and my name is Mo-T And the crunch is pervading from the amp of James G. I'm on the mic and my name is Rupe. This here little song is a present from our group 'Cause our crowd we love, the love we're full of; So we're sending out an audio hug. So jump, jump to the sound of CHUMP. Cause we're back, muthahardinyourface,jack. Hard at work, we were on the scene. Charisma like ours was 'til then unseen. But we were called away to another location, A different position, a different station. We were far away in a distant land, Smile on our faces and books in our hand. Thoughts of snowfall on distant peaks. Wanting to carve but it was out of reach. Lickadee split we were done, our times were up. So we all caught the first ride to our princess Buttercup. Now we're back on stage. It's time to rage. You open Chump's book and turn the page and you Jump.