Final Boss

My intrinsically whimsical wit be listed as astrophysics

It metaphysically drifts yet fails to factor algorithms

How the hell my clinical studies compare in essence to

Divisional rubbish you label "Rap by your buddies"

I fail to understand the similarities

And so I segregate the herb into a pile

And then I line it up on paper made from

Tobacco pulp, you wackos sulk and cry about the randomest

While I convert these Ernie clowns to brainy Berts

Like alchemists

Listen bitch, We can switch from cynical rap