MC Frontalot Follow

I got your whole UI memorized on the first interact.
Wrote a script to keep the yip-yap to a minimum and settled back,
set a track on repeat and wrote rhymes.
You’d think the computer was helping me
do it so perfect sometimes.
And I’m somebody who got classed as a power user.
When my aptitude gets trimmed into a fuse for
the boom-bop-pow of productivity,
I’m just using the tools. They do not get to disagree.

Power user, cruel, cruel man...

Can’t always tell what I want, but always do what I tell you.
Isn’t like you were free before this situation befell you.
Parts in a factory, assembly required,
then it was me, up at night with you, not tired.
Desired to coax you into being, load your mind up
till you could do everything that I ask of you and wind up
in the most prized position, just to the right of my feet.
Till you’re obsolete, parts pulled, left on the side of the street.

Power user, cruel, cruel man,
got the whole process in the palm of his hand.
He’s a power user, cruel, cruel man.

And he’s a power user, cruel, cruel man,
work you a bit better than most of us can.
He’s a power user, cruel, cruel man.

Power user, I can use anybody.
Put you to work, you take a task like Silly Putty
takes up anything already in print.
And then you make it your own, do my dirt for a stint.
I take the glint in your eye to indicate you’re resisting it.
Every circuit that doesn’t break resolve, you’re enlisting it.
You missed a bit. Now you’re doing my bidding.
Stare you down from in front of your terminal where I’m sitting.

I know what every button does, it’s how I push you around.
And I keep running it up, HIMEM in the background
till it sounds like my own rhythm writ right back at me.
Like a sub to dom, I’m talking Lacey to Cagney.
And I’m not bragging. It’s just the way I got tuned.
Sometimes I get used back, you got me turning the screw.
You got me: open the case. You got me: blow out the dust.
I’m only always at your service, as every user must be.