Trust me, this bonus track alone is worth the price. It’s a nearly 10 minute long track
about a robot apocalypse & saving themselves and the liquor. It is the This Is The End of rap songs: you’ll be crying about how fucked up this apocalypse is as you hold your sides sobbing with laughter. I went to summarize it, but really, I’ll just let their lyrics speak for themselves…cause this shit is genius.
[VERSE: RAFAEL CASAL] Adam, ha I didn’t mean to scare ya Dude, that’s not a robot It’s just Iggy Azalea Must’ve hid up in the bar To learn about who we are Then report back to the captain Of the folks attackin’ my favorite rap stars Oh shit Quick Hit her with some fuckin’ duct tape She came to sing-rap And give us all some undercut fades Lo-fi beats transmittin’ telegraphic autotune Help, she’s inside my head And I don’t think I am immune Been repo-d And I think I’m in deep I am weepin’ at the seams Forfeitin’ my dreams Of keepin’ the streets G-code Only way to outrun it Is doublin’ up on the track Any and everyone get up and meddle I mean just puttin’ a pedal into it Now we taking over the tempo and tunin’ it Never gon’ let a lesser lemon ruin it So I’m inducin’ it Doomin’ em all, I’m undoin’ it, deuces I’m dippin’ Who comin with the kid? I’m out Headed to dojo Diggs got pistols hidden in his fro though These robots think we’re bitch, Diggs, gimme some loko And let me borrow your Jefferson robe, bro, I’m goin postal Bay boys ‘bout to put this barrel into some fuckin blowholes
[VERSE: DAVEED DIGGS] Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, cash You see I’m trimmin’ my mustache up I heard all these newly brainwashed rap chicks are really down to fuck (oh no!) I comb the pistols out the fro and they sittin’ on the table And there’s two cheesesteaks out in a fully gassed up LeSabre I’m ready to ride on these haters, let’s go But you better drive cause you already know That apocalypse or not, when I’m behind the wheel My black ass is sure enough gonna get stopped And we ain’t got the time and the tags are expired You know how it is, I am really not tryin’ to die today By cop or by a geek robot Whoa, stop Lemme go bottle up this kombucha I’ve been brewing on the back porch Grab the backpack out the closet, it’s got all of our passports I’ve been plannin’ this for a minute, seen the writing on the walls If we survive and find a civilization, they’ve got to know who we are First, we swoop up Chinaka In case we need some muscle Or some reason, or anything other than our indiscriminate hustle Then we roll through the hood real slow bumpin’ something all of these monsters know Like a Watsky song? Lo and behold, they’ll follow our car wherever we go Let’s lead em out to Napa and let em gentrify that bitch up Start the car, homie—no, we are not stoppin’ for any swishers Or a McFlurry, blood; there’s no time for that shit Hold up, there go Nak right there, pull over. Ayo Nak! Ayo Nak, get in the car!
[VERSE: CHINAKA HODGE] Ay Rafa, get backseat Make room for ya fam, friend I’ll give you this McShake and the end of my Hansen Now what the fuck y’all talkin’ it’s the End of the world I been on Pinterest tendin’ to the End of my curls I mean the sky is always purple People runnin’ on vapors I mean the Tribune been gone I ain’t gon’ read it in the papers Nothing’s all that different, been the same for black women When apocalyptic breakfast follow revelation dinners The lights been out The water smellin’ of flint Exquisite corpses layin’ where the bodies had been No bombs over Baghdad, just drones with grenades So when life give us citrus, we learn to drop Lemonade So, okay fellas, shall we get in formation? Bump some pied piper R up out the trunk this scraper Do the end of the world stylin’ in our fitteds and gators Lure these stupid mufuckas on a goose chase Use whatever’s already in our suitcase I got this old-world jones for this open road And my flow so cold, we don’t need AC I popped fo’ No Doze, I’ll read this formal prose Bet you Butler knows how to make us free A Lauren Olamina in Trumped up world A black magic woman still bein’ called girl But the only constant is change, Holmes So let’s get the supplies and then dip up out our Bay homes Got the earthquake kit and six gallons of gas I got Diggs in the driver and Raf in the back Got this passenger seat and the last of these sweets Go north, Daveed, just gun it til wine country Do it movin’ fluid, like turfin with iDummy It’s the Bay moves we learned as natives gon’ keep us safe It’s that forty water-water and an instrumental tape, let’s go They’ll get tired behind us I mean half of ‘em hybrid but n*gga, most of ‘em wind-ups We got nothin’ but power, we got nothin’ but time I got Kwudi’s new beats and Music of My Mind But nothin’ left in Napa but the scent of the grapes No palate-cleansing tapas for discriminate taste Nothing left in Calistoga but one popped bubble We got just two dudes and like, one Nak, trouble Like how the hell we suppose’t repopulate humanity The two of y’all and me, that’s like, actual insanity Like ew That’s really gross, guys It’s like Not Diggs And not Rafa Not nobody else Just Getback Just doin’ it stylin’ in wine country with Nothin’ else