Wes, you'll get fired eventually and you maybe should
Let Edgar teach you how to Wright for the greater good
Oh, I missed the memo, excuse me, didn't know
We had to dress like the pretentious chodes you put in your movies
Dude, I'll smack the side of your face and before you bitch and scream
I'll smack the other side satisify that symmetry
Your films are proof that quirky doesn't equal good you hipster freak
There are more actors than just Lightning McQueen to pick between
I'd think you're drunk with the shit you pitch for a theater screen
But you look 17, Sergeant Angel check this kid's I.D
Such a scrawny cunt, I don't need to flow no more
I'll go to the Winchester and wait for you to blow over
Eddie is very dead set on the sentiment that he is better than me
Sure, When I imagine academy I think repetitive parody cheese
Sheesh, we're meant to be rapping in battle, not wrapping the camera
So why are you making a scene?
Now, I'll demonstrate how I tend to slay the boggis, bunce, and beat
Every moment in my portfolio lies a photo devised so totally ideal
Over designed with every particular detail I soaked in my style
I'm keeping emotion and dialogue both in my mind
You open the page and jot a one liner
Thinking you're goated with writing and
End up with Last Night in So-so, No wife? That's not shocking
This director couldn't shoot himself a date, he's cock-blocking
You trip over your words so damn much, it's disturbing
Though observing your early work, you're accustomed to slurring
Here's how to make a Wes Anderson flick
Force Bill Murray to act and then pander to pricks
With some pseudo intellectual banter and wit
Make everybody sick with just how bad the camera work is
I saw Scott Pilgrim and it had me perplexed
I wonder if this nerd knows how to use After Effects
Hire some extras to rap 'gainst me since you cannot 1v1 me
I'll stomp your fanbase: they're so brain-dead
That you got them to play zombies
Ok, it's kinda funny you've said that
When I could cast you as a zombie Mr. Shaun of the Deadpan
Your mise-en-scene is miserable, it looks like Shrek's vomit
I will take your pastel color palettes and put red on 'em
I know you like to drizzle your past in the mix (shit)
Your folks' divorce papers made up half of your scripts
When Disney realize your films are filled with grandma fetish gunk
You'll get fired eventually, Chekov's Gun
You spit whack, I though you could sync tracks
I can never sit back cuz your whip pans give me whip lash
You should ditch this match like Ant-Man
The French Dispatch your films into trash Cannes
Sly dresser like Mr. Fox, executive on the set
While Wes is dropping the Jaws, a guy sunk his in your leg
I'll keep Owen by my side even when the show's over
You thought you were hot stuff and gave Nick Frost the cold shoulder
Critics are chasing you down now you're stuck on da fence
Of course you named it Cornetto, those plots are wafer thin
And here's how to take a dive like the state of your dated lineup
You drive an audience away with the cast of Baby Driver