Lyric by Damian Hess » Music by Damian Hess, Gabriel Alter, and David T. Cheong » Backing chorus vocal: Katrina Rose Dideriksen » Keyboard: Gm7 » Drum programming: Baddd Spellah » Scratching: Daniel Wilkes
You keep on rubbing on my head like you're trying to get a genie out.
I suggest instead: present your problem freely now.
Easy how it's put into words and then dismantled.
This is the technique that I prefer. It's as good as handled
if I've heard it. You need a verdict or a parsing,
the perfect scrabble word, or an alibi for arson,
or a parson for your wedding, or a person for your team,
or somebody to discover you and realize your dreams.
Now it seems like it's impossible for a solitary rapper
to guarantee the fix without regard to what's the matter,
yet I stand here certain I can settle all confusion.
MC Frontalot's your one-stop solution.
No riddle to test resolve,
no middle it's best dissolved.
What gets sorted out last of all
gets solved. It gets solved.
Who's asking to advance the cause?
Who's answering the casting calls?
What gets sorted out last of all
gets solved. It gets solved.
You say, "Front, yo, that's your answer for everything:
just tell you the problem, my cares will go languishing."
Anguish in, anguish out, I always caution.
If you'd lean on me more, you'd be in contortion half as often.
If you'd just open up, you wouldn't have to hunker down,
trying to sort it for yourself. Your buddy Front is around!
Come on, what is it now? Finances? Romance souring?
Puzzled how it is that my advice is so d*** towering?
This I recommend: don't call a gift horse dentist.
Just take my two cents; they could be more expensive
if ignored. You must entrust me with your need to know the way.
I can fix the future for you here today.
Everybody wonders when the world will end,
hoping that I'll say it isn't going to. Make pretend
that this timed sprint could easily last forever.
Peruse fine print. Don't skim breezily past addenda
rendering all promises subject to change.
There's only so much of the universe that I can re-arrange.
Can't seem to get estranged from the laws of physics.
Don't know the lotto, or the number on your brain. (What is it?)
And also, if your trouble is me?
I've been pondering solutions since 1973.
None were satisfactory. So let's focus
on everything else; your problems - I got this.
You keep on rubbing on my head like you're trying to get a genie out.
I suggest instead: present your problem freely now.
Easy how it's put into words and then dismantled.
This is the technique that I prefer. It's as good as handled
if I've heard it. You need a verdict or a parsing,
the perfect scrabble word, or an alibi for arson,
or a parson for your wedding, or a person for your team,
or somebody to discover you and realize your dreams.
Now it seems like it's impossible for a solitary rapper
to guarantee the fix without regard to what's the matter,
yet I stand here certain I can settle all confusion.
MC Frontalot's your one-stop solution.
No riddle to test resolve,
no middle it's best dissolved.
What gets sorted out last of all
gets solved. It gets solved.
Who's asking to advance the cause?
Who's answering the casting calls?
What gets sorted out last of all
gets solved. It gets solved.
You say, "Front, yo, that's your answer for everything:
just tell you the problem, my cares will go languishing."
Anguish in, anguish out, I always caution.
If you'd lean on me more, you'd be in contortion half as often.
If you'd just open up, you wouldn't have to hunker down,
trying to sort it for yourself. Your buddy Front is around!
Come on, what is it now? Finances? Romance souring?
Puzzled how it is that my advice is so d*** towering?
This I recommend: don't call a gift horse dentist.
Just take my two cents; they could be more expensive
if ignored. You must entrust me with your need to know the way.
I can fix the future for you here today.
Everybody wonders when the world will end,
hoping that I'll say it isn't going to. Make pretend
that this timed sprint could easily last forever.
Peruse fine print. Don't skim breezily past addenda
rendering all promises subject to change.
There's only so much of the universe that I can re-arrange.
Can't seem to get estranged from the laws of physics.
Don't know the lotto, or the number on your brain. (What is it?)
And also, if your trouble is me?
I've been pondering solutions since 1973.
None were satisfactory. So let's focus
on everything else; your problems - I got this.