Lyrics

Chain smokin beedies til his brain's broken completely Get back on his feet, work out and eat some Wheaties Greedy for the cheese, please, most couldn't fathom Had em in the cobra clutch, when he spat the mad hymn gems Collection of brats, timbs and hats Had no time for the pitty pat, I'll give em that The rhythm hit em back with a right hook Shook it off, caught a shiner, thought it was a aight look Depends on the shades, the end of days fades Pretenders lay in dazes on stages DOOM malaise Eat it up, microphone, microwave mayonnaise His own way was strange but it matters not Tuned into a frequency tone that shattered rock Hold it down like Shatner do Spock Rapper jocks... need to put a sock in they chatter box The block got lied to VIAC stock Folks gather round it's no joke like knock knock It's them, they came home to roost y'all And watch em transform the game to the rules of foosball She's too small. Any questions? Him could squeeze blood from a penny in a recession Keep guessin' It gets deeper than depression The power of suggestion awake or sleep, peep the lesson Dig that beat Ripped it with metal fingers and stomped it with big fat feet And you know what they say: cut the hay Resistance is futile, you will be assimilated, but today it's all grey Metallic wood or ruby stone Rude like the type of dude you could write a movie on Hardcore porn - did his own stunts Read his own rhymes, and split his own blunts Once... in a while, every other minute Eyes pop out, Popeye, heavy on the spinach Steady on his business, and ready with a ill pitch Keep some bad bills niche like Denny Kuci 'nils' nich No hitch, just a shitload of spit and sneeze Strictly G's stackin up, off the rack of hidden fees Rappers like the gay club strip tease With hippies on the yip sayin "hey bub grip these" They screamin for attention Deemin' at the mention of a scary demon convention You could cut the tension wit a switchblade And serve it on a same plate of hors d'oeuvres a witch made Filleted, pursuaded the chamber maid To bet her paycheck on a get naked game of spades Straight up, no chaser, no layaways Caution: faint taste of microwave mayonnaise
Writer(s): Daniel Thompson, Robert Mandell, Jacob Dutton Keen Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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