1. |
Full Blown AIDS
02:47
|
|||
You'll get eviscerated and emasculated
when you step to me to battle with the shit you masticated
from the radio, as a rapper you have masqueraded
for too long, my new song, is deadly like the Bubon-
ic plague; it's called Full Blown AIDS
I'm swinging for the jugular with microphone blades
you can parry and feint, the libertarian saint
but I'm a slice you from your red neck to your Aryan taint
humanitarian ain't, how historians will
describe the way I sliced you with Praetorian skill
you're like Midori in ill, Jill Kelly productions
you take it up the ass and on my dick, there's suction
the rhyme construction's, your mom's seduction
I grab the mic and need no fucking introduction
so give it up; you're just a wack failure
I'm unfuckwitable like the pussy of the Black Dahlia
I'm on some full blown AIDS shit
you can't fade this
cuz it's way sick
you bitch-made trick
I fades 'em all like an indiscriminate stylist
don't give a fuck like an end-is-imminent nihilist
you wanna step to me, then you better be
of the purest rhyme pedigree, if not then you should let it be
I set it free, what? my style off the dome
like my name was Ed Truck when I'm on the microphone
always coming with the hard shit, I think I need Exlax
got more rhymes than Sue Johanson has sex facts
so testing me is clearly a mistake, I'm the flyest
the only way I'll fail is if the test is culturally biased
I'm the illest you ever saw
your whole style's a scam like subsidized ethanol
I'm f'in all, rappers coming at me with my animal dong
you're taking two in the ass like Annabel Chong
call me in the morning
consider this a warning
I'm on some full-blown AIDS shit
I'm out to get paid, bitch!
The way I'm coming, yo, this has to be felt
I keeps it tight like a chastity belt
your shit is weak, son, I think that you better rest
I'm fucking all these wack kids like I'm a pederast
forget a vest, cuz I'm aiming for your head piece
piss on the grave of your dead niece and said PEACE!
I holds it down like date rape
since 1994, I've been making these great tapes
but now it's 09 and your boy's out to make papes
rappers are in danger like sub-Saharan great apes!
and I'm the big game hunter
you don't exist to me, like a hall-of-fame punter
you just made the same blunder
I'm Zeus on the mic the way my lyrics rain thunder!
you just got bested
you better get the AIDS test, kid
I'm on some full-blown AIDS shit
2009 is the year I get made rich!
|
||||
2. |
Hardcore Like Bob Store
04:18
|
|||
Back from the dead like Lazarus
here to state the obvious like your daughter's androgynous
tits and clitorises are erogenous
and bitches and hoes think my lyrics are misogynist
you know that your momma likes homogeneous
pasteurized man milk, yeah, she swallows it
not cosmopolitan, I'm more of a paleo
you're gay like that faggot Neal Daley, ho!
I just came to murder the party
if you're ever in jail, say wordup to Marty
Whitehead ... you know he paved the way
for bouncing checks, he taught Dave LaMay
but efemjay's here to save the day
I'll break 'em all out of jail and then we'll sail away-ay-ay
and keep on sailing
I'm insane in the brain like Matt Ailing
I rock hardcore like Jasmine Byrne
when will these motherfucking has-beens learn
that I'm anti-war like Murray Rothbard
initiating force is weak and you're not hard
fuck Al Gore, and his bitch wife Tipper
a pair of hypocrites more evil than the Gipper
your mom's sore, cuz I hit her in the shitter
YES! and it counts, like Marv Albert I bit her
and now I need a vaccine, homes
cuz your momma was diseased like Jaxeen Jones
and I ain't going out like Tommy Morrison
so I'm never gonna have your mommy on all fours again
and now she's blowing up my Nextel
but the goiter that she gave me made my fucking neck swell
Casual Male XL, you can see me there buyin' shirts
but when I'm on the mic you like I'll iller than Kurutz
I rock hardcore like Bob Store
breaking it down on the Artesian Wells dance floor
hardcore, anti-war
initiating force is wack, and that's a fact
I rock hardcore, fuck Al Gore
global warming's fake, to prop up the state
hardcore, your mom's sore
from taking cocks up the ass, cuz she's an anal
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
we like to party
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
we don't bother nobody, now
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
just a man that's on the mic
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
and when I rock up on the mic, I talk about dykes
Like Sheryl Swoopes
my shit's retarded, like Jamie Jerrel's poops
or Michael Ruoff's fecal matter smeared on the wall
I never knew he was retarded, he appeared on the ball, y'all
like a chick riding Justin Pigg
my knife's at the state's throat, thrust and dig
the simple fact of the matter's I don't like Nazis
why you think I busted my hand on Mike Votzke?
I'm so anti-collectivist
anti-fiat money, anti-protectionist
anti-gun control, anti-war
and anti-your momma who's an anti-anti-whore
you know I rock hardcore
peace to Larry Viles and the real Bob Storer
peace to Prime Time and his little brother Shawn
and my brother from another motherfucking mother, Preach On!
I rock hardcore like Stranglemania
your sister has dangling labia!
anti-war like Jesus Christ
and when I'm on the mic you know my steez is nice
fuck Al Gore and his Nobel prize
an Inconvenient Truth's full of inconvenient lies
your mom's sore from the nipple clamps
and fucking Mr. Mallar on the criple ramps
it's not ergonomical
you battle me, you're a nerd, it's comical
you might have had a chance back in 1997
but efemjay is better than ever after eleven
long years; I know it's been a while, duke
since high school, my rhymes have gotten fat, like Kyle Luke
my style's sick enough to make a pedophile puke
word to Terry Hubbard and his butt-buddy lover, Matt McCance!
I rock hardcore like Bob Store
breaking it down on the Artesian Wells dance floor
hardcore, anti-war
initiating force is wack, and that's a fact
I rock hardcore, fuck Al Gore
global warming's fake, to prop up the state
hardcore, your mom's sore
from taking cocks up the ass, cuz she's an anal
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
we like to party
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
we don't bother nobody, now
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
just a man that's on the mic
ho.. ho, ho, ho...
and when I rock up on the mic, I talk about dykes
|
||||
3. |
My Homie's Gay
04:59
|
|||
It's kind of awkward and I really shouldn't say shit
but my homie Booger's on some motherfucking gay shit
and I need to find a way to let him know we still cool
he's just overly polite to try to push in a guy's stool
so what if balls make him drool
and it hurts every time he drops the kids off at the pool
it's his prerogative to practice homosexuality
but taking cocks up the ass could end in his fatality
and I don't want to see my homie's casualty
so if you're into fucking dudes, you can't do it casually
you gotta use a jimmy hat and make that shit a habit
but I just can't believe that my lil homie is a fagot
word to Richard Simmons
he likes big butts, but he don't like women's
in male fecal matter's where his sperm be swimmin'
but he can't find employment so his only job is rimmin'
1,2,3 my little homie named Booger D's
an F.A.G. and I think you better see
that he likes to be topped and
he can't be stopped when
he's got a cock in his mouth til the last drop and
Booger, Booger D he's an F.A.G.
uh Booger D, Booger D, what the fuck do you see?
Booger, Booger D, do you have HIV?
B-B-B-Booger, Booger D, homosexuality
My homie's gay but I wanna let him know
that I'm down with the motherfucking ho to the mo
does he like it up the ass real fast or slow-mo
does he shave his nutsac or let his pubes go fro
what position does he play, does he catch or pitch
can he suck the fucking chrome off a trailer hitch
or does he give lame head like Terri Schiavo would
does he fuck wit the boys from the rival hood
or does he keep on the down low, and play it straight
is it a personal choice, or would he say its fate
for him to want to suck the kernels out a fellow's corn hole
and up the ass take a motherfucking telephone pole
I wanna tell the homo that I'm cool with his lifestyle
I'd even let him babysit me and wife's child
since we got a girl, we know he wouldn't molest her
but when we got her home, we'd HIV test her
1,2,3 my little homie named Booger D's
an F.A.G. and I think you better see
that he likes to be topped and
he can't be stopped when
he's got a cock in his mouth til the last drop and
Booger, Booger D he's an F.A.G.
uh Booger D, Booger D, what the fuck do you see?
Booger, Booger D, do you have HIV?
B-B-B-Booger, Booger D, homosexuality
My homie's as gay as the day is long
but who the fuck am I, to say its wrong
cuz I got my own vices, so who am I to judge
I knew he liked the Green Bay Packers, now I know he packs fudge
we watched Superbowl together
now I know he likes his pooper full, whatever
I didn't know then, why should I be caring now
Booger D plants his seed on barren ground
it's not apparent how, I should tell him I know
and he's still my hom-ie, even though he's ho-mo
even though he's into fistin' we still have a coalition
when he said he liked shrimpin' I thought he meant fishin'
when he said he liked snowballs, it should have been a clue
but when he said he liked sucking shitty dicks, I knew
that of gayness, Booger D was the epitome
now I'm feeling jealous cuz in all the years he never hit on me
1,2,3 my little homie named Booger D's
an F.A.G. and I think you better see
that he likes to be topped and
he can't be stopped when
he's got a cock in his mouth til the last drop and
Booger, Booger D he's an F.A.G.
uh Booger D, Booger D, what the fuck do you see?
Booger, Booger D, do you have HIV?
B-B-B-Booger, Booger D, homosexuality
|
||||
4. |
Risque Rhymin II
04:15
|
|||
[efemjay]
Lyrics, somebody want lyrics? I got a myriad
my flow is nasty like a bull-dyke's period
it's straight up eerie, kid; the way I rip and flip a verse
sicker than your grandma dressed up as a stripper nurse
you can ask my man the Chancellor, he's happy to confirm it
I'm never going out, I'm in the house like a hermit
take your rhyme book and burn it, kid, you'll never build a legacy
with lyrics ill-concieved like an anal-sex pregnacy
[The Chancellor]
I took a small hiatus, I got a little famous
I went thru different stages but still I am the greatest
on the M.I.C., you know me, I'm Chance Nasty
came back to rap just to tickle your fancy
you can't see, Chance Nasty and Flashmaster
encroaching on your airwaves like a natural disaster
you rat bastard, we're back on the scene
gotcha spazzin out like Ralphie crackin' out for Ovaltine
[efemjay]
Suckaz step to me to try to get some fame
I kick ass and take names, knock pussy walls out the frames
I don't play games with the dames, I will destroy a bitch
out to get that money like Governor Blagojevich
you know I keep it gutter, can I please have my ghetto pass
I used to watch The Sopranos just to see Meadow's ass
I rock a metal flask full of vodka when I'm parasailin
I'm stupid off the dome like my name was Sarah Palin
[The Chancellor]
It's indifferent to me, if I see any currency
me? I'm puffin trees and you haters is irkin' me
shirkin' me off as that next cracker rapper
keep talkin' that shit, i'll make your head-piece splatter
I'm fresh dressed, my style is so impeccable
and 'round here, Tims and bling are unacceptable
you got no style, you don't know how to jet set
I'm rockin throwbacks for teams that don't exist yet
(sampled hook)
[efemjay]
I'm blowing up the spot like a motherfucking meth head
I'm the illest rapper since Eazy-E was on his death bed
I'm tested, never fold under pressure
my rhymes are off the hook like the clothes on your dresser
with the flows that you treasure and the beats that knock
I got more styles that wrinkles on Milton Berle's cock
one ill ass line, yo, for each measure
I get the dough, then I'm out like Heath Ledger
[The Chancellor]
Ay yo we're takin' it back, to the roots of the game
where lyricism outweighs riches and fame
y'all sound the same, all y'all lame ass copycatters
how the fuck you got the nerve to call yourselves rappers
we're grandmasters, and we're ashamed of what we seein'
I could freestyle better than your written shit when I'm peein
emceein's in my blood, i'ma rhyme till I die
so if you're diggin' what im spittin throw your hands up high
[efemjay]
You wanna battle me but your shit is pre-written
pathetic, like a flea-bitten wee kitten
you's a pussy motherfucker, you probably pee sittin'
you just can't fuck with the shit I be spittin'
off the dome or with the pen, yo, I'm nice with my mine
turn lyrics into water like Christ with wine
she got a nice behind, but she wack from the front
so I hit it from the back, put my sac in her cunt
[The Chancellor]
It's elementary, we be, the epitome
in the hip hop industry we goin' down in history
is that a mystery? naw, it's actual facts son
we came up in the sticks, half hour south of Jackson
you wack, son, you cant even hold a candle
this Rollin Tribe shit is just too much for you to handle
it's just a sample, of some next level shit
like Smooth B said, we come back with more hits
|
||||
5. |
Dewey Knitwell
04:02
|
|||
Yes, yes, yall; you dont stop
to the beat, yall; rock on
yes, yes yall; you dont quit
ya keep Dewey Knit and Dewey Knit and Dewey Knitwell
My rhymes are criminal like Brandon Bell
let the librarian, Miss Landon smell
my finger, after sticking it your sister
smacked her on the ass and gave her a titty twister
thats how Deanie Rollz
I spit on her back like she was Liz Noles
and I was Buddy Pierson, word to Elle McPherson
but I like em thicker with tattoos and piercins
for wrecking shop in the anus
I like big booty hoes like [edited]
with big titties too like [edited]
not anorexic hoes, in fact, I find em heinous
I likes Willendorfic
back that ass up, we're gonna need a fork lift
this ain't for the thin Pilates girls
but the big body girls, they're the real hotty girls
Yes, yes, yall; you dont stop
to the beat, yall; rock on
yes, yes yall; you dont quit
ya keep Dewey Knit and Dewey Knit and Dewey Knitwell
I keep it old school like the upper elementary
Chuck Sciarraba's rotting in a Florida penitentiary
he shot that fucking cabbie but it shoulda been a copper
my rhymes are mad fat like that Blues Traveler John Popper
before his gastric bypass
never will I ever let a man lick my ass
but I aint homophobic, word to Matt Magnus
he shot Phil McClain when discovered his fagness
he was on some GodHatesFags shit
but fags hate god, and Im more on that tip
your momma broke my heart, it was truly tragic
but she had to leave me cuz she loved the black dick
Word to Heather Melling
big booty hoes get my nethers swelling
I had to leave Rollin for another dwelling
but I cant leave the mic, its just too compelling
Yes, yes, yall; you dont stop
to the beat, yall; rock on
yes, yes yall; you dont quit
ya keep Dewey Knit and Dewey Knit and Dewey Knitwell
My rhymes are criminal like... Dick Cheney
Ill shoot you in the face like... Dick Cheney
Im breaking every law like... Dick Cheney
and I eat more pussy than his daughter Mary Cheney
word to Val Charles, in a pinch, take a rubber
and stuff it with a sock, and stick it to your lover
if she dont know the diff, then its your siren song
cuz your dicks mad limp like Byron Long
fuck Bush, fuck Clinton, fuck Bush, fuck Reagan
when Im on the mic, I rock hard like Pagan
you rock about as hard as Dana Burds band
and your only fucking fans are a fagot nerd clan
me, I got fans from around the globe
but my dream is to make Lisa Loeb disrobe
and submit to a probe from the magic stick
but nah, I heard she sucked on Magics dick
Yes, yes, yall; you dont stop
to the beat, yall; rock on
yes, yes yall; you dont quit
ya keep Dewey Knit and Dewey Knit and Dewey Knitwell
Dewey Knit and Dewey Knit and Dewey Knitwell
Dewey Knitwell; let me rock it acapell
It's Flashmaster J, aka Dewey Knitwell
when I fuck your momma, well you know she will not shit well
for at least a week, they call me Bad Santa
dont support the Nazis so I don't drink Fanta
my word is law
people think that I'm an asshole like Curtis Shaw
and maybe I am, and I just don't care
because I do more coke than Sammy Square
Psych! I never fuck with the yayo
only white stuff I ever touched was the mayo
look at my physique it shows
Casual Male XLs where I buy my clothes
I can barely touch my toes
the circumference of my waste only grows and grows
I wish that I was fat like Byers
instead of fat like I am, cuz I can't leave the Breyers
|
||||
6. |
Rock the Mic
02:51
|
|||
When I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I really rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
stick my cock to dykes, cock, cock to dykes
when I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
Flashmaster, beer-bottle smasher
over the motherfucking head of a fool who thinks he has to
step to me, to try to get some fame
I'll burn down that faggot's house like Alan Bame
the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire
we don't need no water let that motherfucker burn
or let your momma jack me off, I'll put it out with my sperm
the kid ain't yours, like Howard K. Stern
it's mine; made with my pickle brine
ay yo, I get retarded like Mike Sines
when I rock, rock hard, never ever rock limp son
I get retarded, like Brock Simp-son
When I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I really rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I stick my cock to dykes, cock, cock to dykes
when I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I'm like Nolan Fain, absconding on parole
fuck with me you'll get a limp arm like Bob Dole
like Nat King Cole, my rhymes are unforgettable
tried to fuck your grandma but her pussy wasn't wettable
was it edible? I didn't try it
but the vulva had more hair than the heads of Quiet Riot
word to Remy Wyant, yo, let's race some slot cars
party like a rock star; with my cock hard
fucked your momma in a cop car, that bitch can stretch her twat far
dick was in her booty, in her pussy was a poplar
she ate my ass like a Pop-Tart, then she made my cock fart
I made a male queef, now I have stale briefs
but your momma does my laundry, she can make it fresh
peace to Ron Paul, and fuck the IRS
When I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I really rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I stick my cock to dykes, cock, cock to dykes
when I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I don't spend all day, playing Halo 3
but am I weird cuz I wanna drink J-Lo's pee?
I speak fluent Arabic and Farsi okay
but am I weird cuz I jack it to Darci Bovee?
I'm not a holocaust denier or a slavery apologist
but I'd like to serve as Beyonce's proctologist
you see me on Montel, I drop a bomb shell
when I reveal my cock paralyzed Dawn Snell
Even at the office I'm always drinking like Meredith
bumping into walls, apologizing like Sarah Smith
word to Pam Beasely my cock would fill her belly
but I'd rather do it anally with Karen Fillipelli
When I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I really rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I stick my cock to dykes, cock, cock to dykes
when I rock the mic, rock, rock, the mic
I'm back, y'all; I'm back, y'all
and you know I could never be wack, y'all
I just won't quit, I just won't stop
fuck Larry Richardson and every other cop
|
||||
7. |
Taxi Driver
04:16
|
|||
Fuck the police coming straight from the underground
a young brotha got it bad cuz I fund the town
with my tax dollars, I don't want to pay up
when they go to fund the salary of Fat Man and Jacob
fuck that shit, cuz I ain't the one
for a punk motherfucker with a badge and a gun
to be pullin over (why) when I ain't going fast
traffic laws ain't nothing but a racket for cash
they want money, and I can see 'em a mile away
so when they push up, I just smile and say
back up off me, you're fucking worthless
you see my cock, you can protect and serve this
cops are thugs of the state
they say they give protection from the muggings and rapes
but they spend most they time busting victimless crimes
so when a cop pulls you over, yo, spit them this rhyme (it goes)
Fuck a coppa; fuck, fuck a coppa
fuck-fuck a coppa, fuck, fuck a coppa
like Chuck Sciarraba, Chuck, Chuck Sciarraba
I'll blast him! (Like he was a Taxi Driver)
Fuck a coppa; fuck, fuck a coppa
fuck-fuck a coppa, fuck, fuck a coppa
like Chuck Sciarraba, Chuck, Chuck Sciarraba
I'll blast him! (Like he was a Taxi Driver)
Government employees are the scum of the earth
and postal workers and teachers are some of the worst
but at the bottom of the barrel is the stinking swine
they once locked you up for drinking wine
and now they'll lock you up for smoking a doobie
if you don't go to school, they'll throw you in juvi
if you don't wear a helmet, they'll stop your bike
just think about it if you know a cop you like
cuz they, all think that might makes right
and live off your tax dollars like a parasite
if there was a drop in crime there'd be no cause
for them to stay employed, so these unjust laws
are gonna stay on the books, it's fucking extortion
I wish every cop's mom had an abortion
and I'm not saying fetuses don't need protection
but unborn cops are the fucking exception, yo!
Fuck a coppa; fuck, fuck a coppa
fuck-fuck a coppa, fuck, fuck a coppa
like Chuck Sciarraba, Chuck, Chuck Sciarraba
I'll blast him! (Like he was a Taxi Driver)
Fuck a coppa; fuck, fuck a coppa
fuck-fuck a coppa, fuck, fuck a coppa
like Chuck Sciarraba, Chuck, Chuck Sciarraba
I'll blast him! (Like he was a Taxi Driver)
I don't need to be defended
only thing I need is the Second Amendment
always at my side is my bitch named Nina
put her head in your mouth and say eat the food Tina
can't you talk with a gun in your mouth
that's what happens when come in my house
cuz I'll defend my family with my one gun
I'm not waiting forty minutes for 911
it's a joke, the state offers no defense
to taxpayers, cops are just a burdensome expense
Congress takes our money and you know they never spend it wise
(why?) the government's criminal enterprise
everything they do, they do it sloppily
they want to take away our guns so they have a monopoly
but if that cabbie had a gun instead of a cop
he'd be alive and Sciarraba would be one dead whop, yo!
Fuck a coppa; fuck, fuck a coppa
fuck-fuck a coppa, fuck, fuck a coppa
like Chuck Sciarraba, Chuck, Chuck Sciarraba
I'll blast him! (Like he was a Taxi Driver)
Fuck a coppa; fuck, fuck a coppa
fuck-fuck a coppa, fuck, fuck a coppa
like Chuck Sciarraba, Chuck, Chuck Sciarraba
I'll blast him! (Like he was a Taxi Driver)
|
||||
8. |
Fiat-Like Buyers
04:09
|
|||
Times is hard, word is bond, that's my thesis
I'd even sell out Mises for twenty-nine silver pieces
they call me Jesus for the way I walk on water rhymin'
but I'm sick of being broke like your daughter's hymen
I'm out to get that Robert Kiyosaki dough
enough to pay J-Lo to do a private home Bukake show
I've had it up to hear with you dunderheads
I wanna fly boat like the Wonder Pets
I made a grip on some smart stock sales
but blew it all on DVDs of Cum Fart Cocktails
I know you're doing well cuz your girl's got a fat shitter
I hit it from the back, her face was in the cat litter
I'm not trying to covet my neighbor's ass
but time is running out, I'm living each day like it's my last
since the world is facing imminent death
let's forget about our debts and go blow our stimulus checks
And party like we just don't care
throw our FRNs in the air
all the dues act a fool, all the girls get skanky
let's, spend that money like Ben Bernanke
let's, spend that money like we got a printing press
let's, spend that money like we're trying to impress
yes, spend that money like we got a printing press
2 o'clock, last call, but we ain't finished yet, ho!
I rock-well like Llewellyn
back but I've been out for a long time like Ellen
jellin like a felon getting raped with ample lube
face it dude, my rhymes are on a whole other amplitude
there's no doubt that I spit flames
but fuck that, I wanna be rich like Rick James
your wifey wants another kid just to get the tax credit
she's into anal though so both of her cracks get it
maybe I got low sperm count
or maybe I'm fed up with life, totally burned out
people haven't seen me saying, J have you lost weight?
a couple ounces when your girl milked my prostate
in humanity, I have lost faith
these debts are crushing me, crippling like a crossface
I'm feeling suicidal, just want to end it all
but fuck it y'all, instead I think I'm just gonna go the mall
And party like I just don't care
and throw my FRNs in the air
as I go deeper in debt, all the banksters thank me
when I, spend my money like Ben Bernanke
when I, spend my money like I got a printing press
when I, spend my money I ain't trying to invest
when I, spend my money like I got a printing press
9 o'clock, store's closed, but I ain't finished yet, ho!
I used to clock major dough
but this recession really fucked up my paper flow
the Federal Reserve System made it so
they print the money then they give it to their favorites, yo
you can't make new wealth via money creation
mo money, mo problems, and it's called inflation
artificial interest rates redistribute wealth
it's reverse socialism and a tax that's stealth
but we're, all surprised when the price level doubles
the Federal Reserve caused the Internet bubble
the Federal Reserve caused the housing-market bubble
we can blame the Fed for nearly all our motherfucking troubles
but, still we steady going deeper in debt
buying shit we don't need from people we ain't met
getting caught in a net's all part of their plan
we getting fucked in the ass with our heads in the sand
So let's party like we just don't care
and throw our FRNs in the air
all the dues act a fool, all the girls get skanky
let's, spend that money like Ben Bernanke
let's, spend that money like we got a printing press
let's, spend that money like we're trying to impress
yes, spend that money like we got a printing press
2 o'clock, last call, but we ain't finished yet, ho!
|
||||
9. |
||||
(The Chancellor's lyrics in ALLCAPS)
6 in morning, police at my door
i wonder what the fuck they want to bother me for
cuz i keep my nose clean, even pay my taxes
though I keep a dirty gat stashed under my mattress
I hop out the bed throw on some drawers
the pigs are now at both the front and back doors
I hit the intercom and say what the dilly yo?
"you're wanted for the murder of Matthew J. Paveglio"
there must be some mistake
but ain't no reasoning with motherfucking Jake
so i smash the window jump from the second story
I'm in my jockey shorts on the run like NORE
I dip down on alley, and what the hell
in a heap a trash an abandoned cell
I duck behind a dumpster as the pigs roll past me
pick up the cell and ring my man Chance Nasty
IT'S 6:05, I'M BOUT TO ROLL INTO BED
WHEN MY PHONE RINGs, Yo, Pav wound up dead
He caught a slug to the head and they're saying that I did it
can you come and pick me up? YO, YOU KNOW THAT I'M WID IT
I'll never get acquitted cuz I lack the loot
for a lawyer, so bring some fucking gats to shoot
I'm in my birthday suit and your clothes won't fit
so swing by K-Money's, scoop some of his shit
but keep in on the low, we don't need more accomplaces
DON'T WORRY, MOTHERFUCKER, YOU KNOW I'M ON TOP OF THIS
BUT, YO, WHERE YOU AT?, I dipped into an alley
behind Pirate's Cove don't motherfucking dilly dally
I'LL BE THEIR PRONTO, MEET ME AT THE BANDSTAND
BY THE TIME YOU GET THERE, I'LL HAVE AN ADVANCED PLAN
CHANCE IS YOUR MAN, HE'LL GET US OUT OF THE SHIT
Well get on that motherfucker like lickity split
ROLLIN' TO THE SPOT, AND I HAD A FLASHBACK
TWO DUDES BEEFIN' IN FRONT OF THIS HATCHBACK
OUTSIDE ARTESIAN WELLS LAST NIGHT, fo' real?
IT WAS MATT PAVEGLIO AND BRAD O'NEIL
Did they come to blows? I DON'T RECALL
I WAS DRUNK AS FUCK OFF A 40 OF 8-BALL
Well let's find O'Neil, and check his alibi
I'll kill that motherfucker if he caused my homie Pav to die
WORD, you got the gats? TWO NINES AND A SHOTTY
AND A CHAINSAW IN CASE WE NEED TO DICE UP A BODY
Damn, this shit is real, did you get me some clothes
A TRIPLE X TEE, AND 44 WAIST GERBAUGHS
Well let's bounce to O'Neals and get some answers quick
AIIGHT BUT FIRST LET ME KILL THIS CANCER STICK
Word, and let me load up the 9 milli yo
we're gonna find out who killed Matt Paveglio
We get to O'Neil's and the place looks deserted
he's probably on the run if he's the one that murdered
the front door's locked, but the door to the garage
is unlocked, I kick the fucker open with my gun cocked
AY YO, THAT'S THE HATCH BACK I SAW LAST NIGHT
AND HANGING OUT THE DOOR, WHAT A BRUTAL SIGHT
Brains on the floor like a pile of spaghetti!
HIS DOME LOBBED IN HALF, THERE'S AN OLD SCHOOL MACHETI
STICKING OUT HIS BACK, I think I'm gonna yak
I turned a blew chunks on a hemp hackey sack
and Brad don't hack, NO, BUT THAT ALBINO DID
PAT REYNOLDS IS THE ONE WHO LOBBED OFF BRAD'S LID
Was he beefing with Pav? TRUE INDEED
PAV STIFFED HIM ON A HALF POUND OF HYDRO WEED
And was he also feuding with O'Neil over marijuana?
NO, BUT BRAD GOT HIGH AND MICROWAVED PAT'S IGUANA
IT SEEMS PAT KILLED PAV THEN MERKED O'NEAL
FOR THE FIRST JOB, HE USED FMJ'S STEEL
BROKE INTO HIS PAD AND STASHED THE HEAT UNDER JAY'S BED
THEN HIT UP O'NEIL'S HOUSE AND LOBBED OFF BRAD'S HEAD
Now we're on our way to Lake Somerset
IF WE SEE PATSY CLINE then you know he's gonna get
wet by the nine, I don't mean to be illin' gee
but someone's gotta act to put an end to this killin spree
WE GET TO PAT'S CRIB, it's the same routine
nobody's at home, it's like he blew the scene
WE BUST IN THE DOOR, SEE A SILHOUETTE DANGLIN'
FLIP ON THE SWITCH AND SEE PAT'S ASS STRANGLIN'
Hangin' from a rafter like an inch from death
I chop his ass down with his very last breath
he says, "listen up, Jay, I truly ain't lyin' dog
the fucking mass murderer's your boy name Brian Boggs
I'm appalled, I take two steps back
Chance pulls out a gat and cocks the hammer back
YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT...IT WAS ME FROM THE START
BUT YOU FUCKED IT ALL UP, YOU DIDN'T PLAY YOUR PART
IF YOU HADN'T INSINUATED I WAS HOMOSEXUAL
I WOULDN'T HAVE TRIED TO LOCK YOU UP IN THE CORRECTIONAL
FACILITY, so now what, you're killin' me?
I CAN'T HAVE NO LOOSE ENDS IF I PLAN TO STAY FREE
PAT AND BRAD, THEY HAD IT COMING FROM THE GET
BUT PAV WAS THE KEY TO GETTING THIS TRAP SET
But why'd you kill Pav? SO NOBODY SUSPECTED
ME OF THE MENAGERIE OF KILLS THAT I COLLECTED
YOU COULDA SURVIVED AND JUST DONE A LIFE BID
BUT NOW YOU KNOW TOO MUCH SO ITS LIGHTS OUT KID
Not so fast, I pull's a 9 from behind
with a blast, pull our triggers both at the same time
|
||||
10. |
If you like efemjay, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp