In Promo by Pyre

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

But then I remember back to high school, and these idiots named Jack and Jill.

They ran with the outcasts. You know, the group that hangs out in the alleys and talking about how much better they are than the “popular kids.”

Funny that they said that, because I remember the day that Jack and Jill walked through the door looking like Tim Burton’s idea of a popular couple.

Fucked up, in other words.

See, they took one look at the school’s power couple and thought they’d step up to the plate.

Jack put some highlights in his hair, wiped the stench of budussy from his chin, and made like he could finish the fifth grade.

While Jill… poor Jill. She missed the point entirely.

This bitch heard that the popular girls were thrifty, so she went dumpster diving for the nastiest clothes she could find.

Couture, it was not.

Fact was, these idiots and their little clique were laughed out of school.

Because even when imitating the best, you’re still lower than the rest.

When I look at Tag and Ether, I see Jack and Jill.

The Jet Set Cucks like to sit around their soda shop and act like they’re the shit, and how they’re going to take the Bad Mother Fuckers to school.

The fuck you are.

We clean swept your ugly asses at Revolt.

Yet here you are, walking through the doors to our turf looking like the K-Mart version of me and big Z.

But y’all ain’t even Tim Burton. You’re like the Tommy Wiseau version of us.

Tag, I see you. You fuck. We get it. But goddamn if the tail you pull couldn’t fill a mouth with teeth if they tried.

But at least I see what you’re going for. You’re the smaller, less equipped, uglier version of Zero.

Ether, though? Girl, you missed the point.

You gobbling up all the food in the western hemisphere doesn’t make you like me. See, when I say I’m hungry, I don’t mean for food.

I mean for death. Destruction.

When I say I’m here to fuck shit up, I don’t mean playing a checkers game.

I mean I’ll burn Wonderland to cinders. For fun.

You’re the laughing stock of OSW. You imitate the Bad Mother Fuckers, but you’re not even as good as the Forever Friends.

Hop off the wheels and take an honest look at yourselves. Everybody else already has.

You’re over the top caricatures of ass kickers. Little boys and girls playing dress up in a world that left you behind decades ago.

This ain’t the sock hop, this is Old School Wrestling.

This is real fucking life, and we are the Bad Mother Fuckers.

When we walk in the door, we’re either here to fuck or fight.

Unfortunately for you, there ain’t gonna be no fucking at Rust Out.

You want to imitate us?

Good luck.

Because I’m too hot to handle, and he’s too cold to hold.

Step to the Bad Mother Fuckers…

…and your outdated asses will never grow old!