Billy Butcher vs. Syndrome Lyrics – Freshy Kanal
Singer: Freshy Kanal
Title: Billy Butcher vs. Syndrome
Who do we have here?
Brooding old man in a trench coat
Lookin’ like he came to study for a Rorschach test? No
I read your comics
To be honest, Fidel Castro
I almost got a paper cut on all that f#cking edge, bro!
You’re not dangerous
You’re makin’ pals repay favors and take all the risks, then don’t let them go
I guess you must crack a few eggs and break off a new friendship to end up with Frenchie toast
Oh, you sly dog
You got me rappin’ triplets, but dissin’ you fills me with pity
‘Cause I can tell it must eat you alive knowin’ Homelandеr and your dear missus got busy!
Oi!
Cunt!
That means you, Jimmy Neutron!
Thе douche who needs his goons to help him get his super-suit on
Move off or do one!
I can tell you screw machines
Too odd how you’re powerless and still have yet to lose your V
My men dispense of Supes
You suck ’em off to sell ya toys
If we were a group of p#ssies, we’d be the Incredi-Boys
You lost to a baby, mate
I wouldn’t have that
Personally, I’d c#ck and aim him at your face like, “Gat-Gat!”
Let me take a Butcher’s at that accent
Who’re they kidding?
You’re only here ’cause Amazon couldn’t get Hugh Jackman with two-day shipping!
I take out Supes like an egg drop
Carried out big-league plans while my face popped pimples
Never let my age stop me from takin’ an old dude too hirsute for a tank top! [Woo!
You take out Supes like a- wait, stop [Ha-ha!
As much as you hate Vought
You ain’t got people who know how to take shots
Following a man who’s an absent dad as a day job!
And I know you were born in Hell, huh
But at least you got a story to tell, huh
How you came back home and Daddy still had blood stains from your poor little brother’s corpse on his belt, huh
But I don’t understand all the drama
Your son’s hangin’ with his old man and his mama
He sees in you what you see in the hands of your papa
Wow, now you got a whole family of trauma!
Age bars off an actual boomer
Tech skills couldn’t put bags in a Hoover
My drunk father would guess this cunt’s password
Faster than you can be rude in the back of an Uber
Man’s stupid, ain’t gonna do sh#t
Man been a square like Rubik’s
They won’t lend you an ear when you’re putting on airs with the hair of a used-up Q-Tip
If you’re ethical, then I beg to know who the hell in Metroville paid for it
The way you settle scores is a metaphor for what the f#cking state of the nation is!
It’s incredibly stupid
You quell the Supes and claim their powers are ableist
Another crazy kid who’s been wastin’ days with a parasocial relationship
I’m appalled that this poor twat can’t perform as a support act
Even after his false dad used this wharf rat as a doormat
If you don’t wanna suffer burnout, don’t be such a f#cking star
Keep on whinging all you want
You’ll never measure up to Parr
Dickhead!
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Lyrics Freshy Kanal – Billy Butcher vs. Syndrome
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