I'm gonna spit in a ditch, gonna yell at your dish
Your carbonara ain't fresh and your rhymes ain't shit
I'm gonna hang with my crows, call that a mass murder
Gonna sing with my band, ain't no butter churner
And I make my own lines and I write my own songs
Now this Italian will sing and my Orb's on the drums
Beats sicker than my granny, call it asbestos
But I prefer when my pasta is made with good pesto!
My corvids and I, we steal the show
We got my bestie crowderick and CrowTheCrow
We're gonna rip this stage, the roof's going off
And we'll beat up the British (I'm sorry Tofftoff)
wait, wait, wait, I don't have anything against the Brits
But I do got something that's better than this
It's this one screamo band, don't think you've heard
But it's me and my friends, and we're stuck in The Ditch!