We learned something about Iggy Azalea today: she is terrible at freestyling actual words, but excellent at freestyling utter nonsense.

In case you missed anything, we tried transcribing her freestyle. Emphasis on "tried." 


Feel geeood?
I feel f*cking hun.

Tire monks.
Tire monks.
Finish line with the fire monks.

When the real lace to a runaway twain.


Shittin' on the pants gotta spin it like a pastor, director, bachelor, daylight, doorlight, gashter, faster, motorbike faster.

He gotta get a bitch why am I a raptor? White bitch going like, going like a boom.

Pee-hatch chin on the rooftop in the wind. When I win, when I when I win. No when I win make up link shinga.

Hos on call. Got hos on call to come through take a purple toe. Go tops stematage that's my protocol.

His minions. Australians. No sauce. No camera. I don't care who you are. No camera gotta give it to you raw.

Pitch on point gotta pick me a joint gotta tweeze this bee and then get sprayed by a joint.

FRICK CRAP RACK! BULLET TO THE POP POP POOM gonna do a rang, sitty can, no sicky tan, shorty do it in the armoire, no diggos in the motherf*cking gnat.

It's Iggy not Jigga.


You know, reading this back it actually makes a lot of sense. When I read, "Tire monks. Tire monks. Finishline with the fire monks," I feel like I'm reading my own soul.

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