From Biblical Babylon to modern scientology 
 The problem with cults, at least according to me 
 Is that it’s so hard to see the purpose, meaning or point in them 
 And they’re never any fun, but still, people keep joining them 
 If I was a cult leader, my cult would be wicked 
 We’d find a jam to kick out, and then we’d just kick it 
 We’d wear the coolest cult robes and then we’d disrobe each other 
 We’d never shave our heads or call each other sister and brother 
 When [bad word] s rocking, [bad word] knocking, [bad word] banging or rattling 
 ‘Cause we’re busy getting busy or just casually rap-battling 
 Drinking cult Kool-Aid straight, a little water no rocks 
 You know that I’ll drink it too when it’s time to kick off 
 Because my body is mortal but my rhymes are unkillable 
 Look at me slice through this song with all its dipthongs and syllables 
 My lips spit quick, it’s a slick trick, I’ve got mad skills 
 It’s not making me rich, but hey, it pays the bills 
 It’s [bad word]  cross my heart this is a work of non-fiction 
 So don’t fall apart when I whip out my diction 
 ‘Cause I write all my songs while listening to the Wu-Tang Clan 
 I learned some tricks from ODB and Method Man 
 When I’m not rhyming I’m trying to find time to unwind with the classics [bad word] 
 Though I know those jokes are lame or sick or just downright vomity 
 But the shiniest apples have the slimiest worms at their core 
 Don’t bother to stop me if you’ve heard this one before 
 ‘Cause this old chestnut is a real knee slapper: 
 Inside every one of us is [bad word]  a cult leader, and an amateur rapper. 
 Hey A-Train - 
 Uh-huh? 
 I’ve got a good one for you. 
 What’s that? 
 Knock knock. 
 Who’s there? 
 [bad word] cow. 
 [bad word] cow wh- 
 Moo. 
 You see the joke is the cow is always [bad word] and - never mind. 
 I should maybe stick to dead baby jokes, they work every time 
 It says a lot that we’ve got lots of them about dead tots or toddlers 
 But when we see a live one we don’t kill it - we just kiss him or coddle her 
 Now some of my best friends are moms and dads and they may hate me but isn’t 
 Parenting the last refuge of the scoundrel? No, that’s patriotism. 
 Anyway, though I see a lot of people first meeting and then breeding like guppies 
 My heart goes all down-and-uppy when I see a little kitten or a little puppy 
 And I find my heart bursting with red heart-shaped confetti 
 And I think maybe I’ll get a dog, then I go no, I’m not ready. 
 I couldn’t handle the responsibility, where would I find the time 
 To build [bad word]  [bad word] career, my empire of rhyme? 
 But then I think I’ll need a dog if the nuclear [bad word] 
 We’d wander the desolate planet, hide in deserted city slums 
 My dog would warn me, he’d bark if mutant cannibals were attacking us 
 We’d be bushwhacking and double-backing in case those mutants were tracking us 
 Then we’d finally find refuge in an abandoned nursery school and we’d be alone 
 I’d light a small fire and my dog would find and chew an unknown mystery bone 
 We’d wake up in the morning starving, our lips blue and our ribs showing through 
 And I’d spy a pack of wild dog puppies and think of trapping just one or two 
 Then my dog would look up at me with those big eyes, all sad and gentle 
 And I’d be like [bad word] on, dog, it’s the apocalypse, we can’t get sentimental.” 
 But here’s the cherry on the cake - here is the topper, the capper: 
 Inside every one of us fakes beats the red heart of a mother, 
 father, a trapper, a cult leader, [bad word]  
 And an amateur rapper.