Assorted Flavor, Lyrics, Solo

I Ain’t Shit

(Intro)
Shit, I don’t need no bitch telling me ain’t shit….I already fuckin’ know I ain’t shit…..Fuck you, bitch…..Fuck outta my face!

My bank account’s empty, so don’t tempt me,
I ain’t shit, that’s why the dance floor empty,
I ain’t rich, and I probably never will be,
Been broke as a joke since the days of Ren and Stimpy,
Same old clothes that I had in ’03,
Same old gold I been rockin’ since 18,
Only thing I got goin’s a couple a mean-ass flows,
And I goes when I gots me a drink,
Stank hoe, selfish, won’t give me the pink,
She thinks that I’m crazy when I kiss on her cheek,
She probably knows I won’t put her in mink,
Yeah, I’m a little chubby, I can see my dick at least,
Besides, you’re ugly, ain’t no cure for that,
Like you were hit in the teeth with the ugly bat,
Like you been eatin’ rock biscuits, as a matter of fact,
Be careful with my dick when you decide to lean back,

(Chorus)
C’mere, bitch, I know I ain’t shit,
But you ain’t either, c’mon, lick on this dick,
You did it for him, and I know he ain’t got it,
Could ya, get over here and show me that you’re bout it-bout it
(x2)

I been around the world like once or twice,
I met girls mean, I met some nice,
I met classy girls, and girls that like to fight,
I met some clean, and some that got lice,
I met some frontin’, and some that’s just liars,
I met some stuntin’ like they jumped through fire,
I met some cool like they jumped in a pool,
And some bitches hot, and they had no clue,
But I don’t meet bitches so that we can be friends,
I meet ‘em just to split ‘em, and put the D in,
I don’t buy drinks if I’m not gonna win,
Cuz in the end, I just wanna make her head spin,
When I get her laughing at the things that I said,
Then I can take her back to my spider-web bed,
At least right now she ain’t thinkin’ bout bread,
Yo, gimme some pussy, or at least some head, and,

(Chorus)

Women, I don’t pick ‘em, they just come to me,
Big ol’ girls, they think that I can’t see,
I’m drunk as a skunk, but between you and me,
I’ll run if I gotta, be walking the streets,
I think I hurt my knee, and I fucked up my jeans,
I wake up in the bushes, and now I gotta pee,
I gotta find my truck and it’s starting to freeze,
It’s cold as fuck, and my phone’s out of battery,
All because the other chick wouldn’t listen,
I told her someday that my neck and wrist would glisten,
Even if it meant somebody’d end up missing,
And I promised her I wouldn’t end up in prison,
But she laughed, cuz she knows I got a DWI,
She looked into my eye and she said, “Are you high?”
I said, “No, not blowed, I always look this way,”
Then she walked away, I said, “Wait, hey, hey!”

(Chorus)

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Hand to Mouth, Lyrics, Solo

Rainy Night Pt. II

God damn! I’m sick and tired of waitin’ for that slut,
Walkin’ around with that fat butt, actin’ like she run stuff,
She act tough, like she can’t be trained, but she
Gave me brain for a sack of that stuff,
She’ll still be paying, the head was down-payment,
Still need the remaining, two O’s of red-strain,
I ain’t playin’, I’m about to make her realize,
She can be penalized for skippin’ on my enterprise,
I mean it, I’m about to hit this ice, slam a beer or 5,
Hit the dank till I get demon eyes,
I scream inside, switchin’ sides like a Gemini,
Don’t get shit by bein’ nice, so I’m gettin’ mine,
This time, I swear, I’m gettin’ in her underwear,
Stank bitch, ain’t no tellin’ what’s up under there,
Let’s do it, I’m fired up, I don’t care,
I’m throwing her ass over chairs, I’m a make her scared,

First thing when I show up, I step in the mud,
I hope when shit blows up, I’ll be steppin’ in blood,
All this fuckin’ rain bringin’ the pain in a flood,
Gonna mangle her up, and end up bangin’ her guts,
Gonna cut her up, hey, c’mere you slut,
Where the fuck is my cut for the bud, haha, what?
You swingin’ on me? Bitch, I’ll tear your ass up,
I will kill you, the blade slips in like butter,
Yeah, you like that? I think I busted a nut,
I’m a get another one when off in your butt,
Where’s that fool at, Emonic, the wannabe rapper?
I hope he shows up, cuz he’s gonna die faster,
Don’t look at with me with those eyes, I’m a gouge ‘em out,
Put my dick in your skull and just pound it out,
With sperm on your mind, shoulda learned, bitch,
Fuckin’ with me, that’s the best way to earn dick,
I’m gettin’ close, can’t let the blood coagulate,
Fuckin’ the wound is the best way to ejaculate,
I shoulda done this a long time ago,
Wait, is that somebody at the door? No,
Musta been the drops on the trailer tin roof,
When I’m done gettin’ mine, I’m a make a tailored skin suit,
I think I hear him coming to save her, en route,
Shit, I wanna get this off before he gets through…

(Breathing)
Almost….God damn!

(…Where the fuck am I? Oh God, oh God, what the fuck? What the fuck have I done? Hahahahaha)

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Hand to Mouth, Lyrics, Solo

Alley Ratz

The funniest part of this is when I copy Slim Shady’s “Maniac, Braniac in Action” at the end, and then I talk shit to copycats in the very next line…

(Go ahead, turn it up….40 bag’s all soggy….)

Spit fire, sick and tired, lettin’ clips fly,
Tire iron, belligerent, riggin’ tripwires,
Skipped trial, make kids cry, launchin’ missiles,
Punchin’ eyes, at luncheons, crunchin’ French fries,
Gettin’ my dick sucked nice at Sangenjaya,
Stick it inside till jizz fly, and get lice,
Kaiser, gun-for-hire, rhyme or die,
Fuckin’ liar, ‘caine buyer, no lame survivors,
Choke you to death to sounds of dark choirs,
Without perspiring, hold your throat with barbed wire,
Slice knifes, and rice, and turn the fryer higher,
Add spice and herbs, and serve you in my Jambalaya,
Never find ya, you hit the spot, I never mind ya,
Shock and awe, I got you when I’m right behind ya,
Haul ‘em off, to choppin’ blocks, cops are lost,
Bloody mops from blood he drops, somebody’s dyin’,

(You know what I’m sayin’, man? Fuckin’ no-rappin’ motherfuckers…)

Battle raps, for battle cats that’re wack,
Imagine that, I shatter that smirk with a battle axe,
Shirt soaked, turn you around, stab your back,
Jabbin’ at these nerds with a mad attack,
You herbs need to learn, I’m more advanced than that,
Rocket launchers, Uzis and grenades in my backpack,
It’s too late, I can’t be saved, in fact,
Satan is my sponsor, feelin’ hatred, killin’ mall rats,
I’m all that, you’re on these, lick my sweaty bag,
Medivac, I got you chokin’ on my nutsack,
You must be jokin’, Jack, I’m tokin’, leanin’ back,
Smokin’ you and schemin’, reamin’ your bitch’s ass crack,
Back-back, I’m on the track givin’ no slack,
Rattletrap, I’m rollin’ in a busted Cadillac,
Maniac, braniac, fuck you rhymin’ bastards,
Actors, you copycats, I trap you little alley rats…

(Freestyler, and I never perspire, I kill you fuckin’ easy, you motherfuckin’….)

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Hand to Mouth, Lyrics, Solo

Crossing the Line

(Chorus)
Our state of mind is defined by society,
Sometimes, it’s kind of a duality, and actually,
They get surprised at reactions that come out of me,
I strive to be defiant, just because I want to be,
Fools around me wonder if I’m bouty-bouty,
I can be rowdy, I do a crime and I’m audi,
My sanity is vanishing, caution, I’ma unwind,
I’m too fast for consequences, I’m crossing the line,

Left an old lady clutching her heart,
Rushed to the car and barely got it to start,
I hope her purse has more than one hundred,
Cuz if it don’t, I gotta do another one, I’m hurtin’,
I’m certain I can get away smooth if I play it cool,
Cut through the school zone, go slow or it’s curtains,
They didn’t notice me, but hopefully I didn’t
Leave a trace or some evidence when I jumped over the fence,
My intent’s to commence and dispence, violence
On defenseless, unsuspecting residents,
Get a real job? I tried it, I don’t like it,
But I do make heads bob, girls and guys alike,
And I’m not part of your regime or your team,
I’m rewriting history, so label me the enemy,
If busting heads, will guarantee my victory,
Then so be it, put your money on the ground and beat it,

(Chorus)

Sometimes my mindset gets me in trouble,
It gets me in the mood to just bust your bubble,
Knock your ass down and kick you till you fuckin’ double,
Over, I’m jettin’ off just like Barney Rubble,
I work for no one, so I’m highly suspect,
“How you got new shoes, when you got no check?”
I don’t take orders, just request with respect,
I do what I do, so step off of my dick,
It’s just like I said, man, I used to have a job,
A slave to the Man, might as well be gettin’ robbed,
It keeps you out of jail, but you’re never on top,
You live hand-to-mouth, check-to-check, make it stop,
All of that stress builds until your chest feels,
Heavy as fuck, now you feel like your stuck,
And you know as long as you live, you’re owned by them suckers,
It’s time to cross the line, what the fuck?

(Chorus)

There’s a thin line between want and take,
An even thinner one between real and fake,
If I cross the line and straight break your face,
I’d take your wallet and have bread to bake,
Cuz you work for them, and it’s them I hate,
And if you offend, I get real irate,
You’re either with me or not, choose your fate,
You ain’t for, you’re against, so you ain’t safe,
I can’t go back back, shit, it’s much too late,
I see things diffeent, it’s a piece of cake,
I don’t want your life, this is the choice I make,
I strangle you, till your voice, it breaks,
Keep you awake to hear the noise you make,
Man, you shoulda joined, that’s your big mistake,
I hate hypocrites, and I hate you snakes,
I’m crossing the line, just to expose you fakes,

(Chorus x2)

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Hand to Mouth, Lyrics, Solo

The Fuck You Doing?

I saw him step up to the plate with gait and sway,
And speak with a straight face, ah, wait, he’s gay,
Gotta lace him in his place and it made my day,
I sent him on his way, I put it to you this way:
I seen ‘em come and go, so many rhyme sprayers,
And spitters-turn-quitters should probably say their prayers,
Cuz I’m the Almighty, I’m blinding when the light shines,
You’re singin’ “Hail Mary” – I’d rather fuck her from behind,

Y’all got me mad enough to spit and cuss,
And kick up dust and rough that ass up, and all that stuff,
Get in scuffles, you can’t have stuff,
I’ll be glad to get agg, I’ll end up in handcuffs,
Say something original, or halfway true,
If not, then that’s my signal to just fillet you,
You ain’t a MC, man, you’re straight doo-doo,
Get the fuck up off the mic, man, what the fuck are you doing?

(Chorus)
What the fuck are you doing? I seen better things
From a kid 16 with a hot 16
Not the same old thing that’s on the MTV,
Or the radio, the way they think that it be,
What the fuck are you doing? I gives a fuck
About your grind, this is my time, and I’m doin’ mine,
You can’t use your hustle to try and make me
Buy a shitty CD, cuz I thinks for me,

The next time I hear about your woodgrain or chain
And you’re in a Suzuki, I’ma prove that you’re dookie,
Who you foolin’, fool, man, your chain is a shame,
Couldn’t get it working where you do, Arby’s ain’t payin,
And even if it did, I doubt you live hard,
You’re tryin’ to look street, while you manage the fryer,
And now you want more on this mic,
When these kids are straight broke, 24-7, do or die?
I’m bringin’ the pain on the mic, I’m straight raw,
I ain’t playin’, I eat it with a little steak sauce,
I fuck ‘em up nice, like a Cedar Creek Lake cop,
Snappin’ off your fingers, questioning, tryin’ to make ‘em talk
Please, test me, and let me rip you off the page,
In a rage and daze, I ain’t paid yet, I’m hatin’ it,
I stay faded, I find pussy and I’m rapin’ it,
So guard yours,
Get off the stage and look for safety.

(Chorus)

Don’t know why you grabbed the mic, you’re straight useless,
A hand with no fingers, a carnivore toothless,
Leave it to the cats that’s been itchin’ to do this,
I’m a motherfuckin’ mountain, there’s no way you could move this,
You ain’t said a rhyme I ain’t heard before,
I could do yours and more, you’re a corporate whore,
I’m not impressed, don’t insult my intelligence,
You’re irrelevant, I know it’s true, that’s why I’m tellin’ it,
You ain’t had no hard times, so quit cryin’,
You ain’t gotta worry cuz you’re workin’ full-time,
So what you rappin’ for, to be a hit at the party?
Say that you’re the man, and sip on your Bacardi?
I crush a fuckin’ sucker, I rips ‘em to pieces,
When I’m on the mic, I releases, you speechless,
People standing by like, “Jesus, who he is?”
It’s the least that I can do to teach you what heat is,

(Chorus)

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Hand to Mouth, Lyrics, Producer Collabs, Solo

Refluxos

Rambling rhymes. This was a collaboration with TRZ from Brazil, and came together through the website CCMixter.org.

Live wire, why retire, when this beat’s so ill,
and I like perspirin’,
I’m firin’, you emcees, stay on your job,
I came to rob you slobs, now I’m on top
I’m priceless, you’re pointless, I’m timeless,
Rhyme wrecks, now where’s my checks?
I comes, collects, so now who’s next?
Flex up, now pay up, man, cuz I’m fed up,

5 secs, and you dudes are all wet up,
Pencil so fast, you gotta keep the lead up,
Sneaky motherfucker, please keep your head up,
E flows these, I don’t care about bread, what?
Sick stuff, livin’ in darkness,
I wrote it on the fly, I don’t know why, but watch this,
Don’t even care if I make it to the hot list,
Just a 16 so I can make your head bob, bitch,

(break)

Round 2, dudes are clueless,
When I blew through, I leave your ass on the news,
Blues Clues fuckers tried to view my shoes,
I’m enthused, you step to me and you lose,
I’m autonomous, anonymous,
I work on my own, I ain’t part of the Omnibus,
Disaster area, I’ll put your ass on a bus,
Get the fuck outta here, you ain’t one of us
I got rhymes that the game’s been needin’,
Shitty rap needs flush, you ain’t impedin’,
These sick flows, like HIV bleedin’,
Sneakin’, drinkin’, funky like I’m stinkin’,
16 more to leave your ass on the floor,
Just like a whore, man, you just can’t ignore,
Rhymes like these, you’re like, “Oh, I see,
E drops flows, like, continually,”

(break)

One more drunk-ass verse to be sprayin’,
Hoes come close, but they need to be layin’,
You post up and you try to be the man,
But you flow dumb, I don’t know what you’re sayin’,
If you get that, then I guess you get the point,
I annoint fools with a drink and a joint,
Bump your ass right up off the track like, Boink,
Don’t come back, man, your ass is wack,
You can say this and that, and that and this,
I collects and disses, and then I piss,
On your toilet bowl, your display of control,
Because I’m bold, and your shit’s straight old,
Who else you know that can flow this cold,
Just straight go with a drink of Cisco,
Let me hit those with this lyric shit-show,
Emonic spit flow, greasy like Crisco

(breaks)

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Hand to Mouth, Lyrics, Solo

Only Me

Your best friends are shady, can’t let these fools fade me,
Shit, I can tell that motherfuckers are goin’ crazy,
They come out of the woodwork to jack you out of house and home,
No one knows where they’re goin’, chiefin’, they stay in a zone,
It’s kinda known half these bastards stay blown,
Half of that number has a got a little chrome of their own,
A quarter of that group has got the balls to use it,
But the problem is, an eigth of those are locked down,

Cuz the cops will come through and shut yo shit down,
Some of my boys shot their boy in the leg and knocked him down,
The cops scooped ‘em up, now they’re waiting in county jail,
For countless time, ain’t no chance of them making bail,
My brother and his boy, they hit a cat with a jack,
Now he’s got 10 years, times 2, probation back to back,
30 g’s restitution, they each got half,
Till his friend took a gauge and blew his own brains out the back,

(Chorus)

Sittin’ on the porch drinking 40’s with the homies,
Gotta get out of here, but something just holds me,
I can’t find a job, I’m feelin’ empty and lonely,
But no one ever told me that it was only me,
Fighting and stealing, and petty fuckin’ crimes,
Alcohol and dope and marijuana on our minds,
I don’t wanna stay, don’t have the energy to leave,
No one ever told me that it was only me

5-0 rolled by me, u-turned for no reason,
All they seen is the green Gran Prix, full of heathens,
Yo, shut up in the back, and man, throw out that weed,
Hide the Old E 40’s, and I hope you ain’t holdin’, Mikey,
“Excuse me, can I see your registration and license?”
Here’s my license, my insurance, I couldn’t find it,
Everybody smoke a cigarette, just in case you got warrants,
“Could you come back here to the back of the car, Mr. Morris?”
“You got any weapons, or anything illegal in your pockets?”
Just my knife, hold on, lemme give my brother my wallet,

“Don’t worry about that, settle down, and quit stallin’,
Turn around and put your hands back so I can lock ‘em,
You got warrants for your arrest in Henderson, and in Kaufman,”
What? I just called ‘em, and they told me that they dropped ‘em,
“Computer says you got ‘em, so everyone start walkin'”
Can my brother take my car? “Tow truck’s comin, stop talkin'” (Fuck!)

(Chorus)

Been here fuckin’ around for too damn long,
In just two days, got enough for 2 damn songs,
I just lost my job, it didn’t took that long,
But I was in jail, gimme something to put that on,
It’s hard to leave when your hatred brews that long,
And you do those crimes, even though you knew that’s wrong,
The girl you met last night, she threw that thong,
Gave it up to a throng of dudes she didn’t knew that long,

You think it’d be easy to just move your ass on,
Go to another city, where you don’t know no one,
With no one to run to, or buy dope from,
You’ll be back in this motherfucker before too long,
Cuz we been waitin’ for you, so we can get our mooch on,
We need a new fool that we can get the scoop on,
We’ll drain you to nothing, and after that we’ll just move on,
It’ll start up again, and someone’s writing a new song

(Chorus)

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Assorted Flavor, Lyrics, Producer Collabs, Solo

Exodus

As I got on the plane to head home,
Didn’t know it was the last time, guess I shoulda known,
I wouldn’t be back for what seems like forever,
Now I’m reminiscing, I shoulda been more clever,
Shoulda, coulda, woulda, yeah, blah, blah, blah,
It doesn’t change shit, la-dee-da-dee-dah
I dreamed and hoped, and I twiddled my thumbs,
I never made connections, and lived like a bum,

From homeless to hopeless, I never lost track,
Of my years way back, when I had a backpack,
I rode trains with a notepad, in fact,
It was the start of my rhyming, my love affair with that,
I used to steal anything to sell it,
Used to yell in the streets, being straight careless,
Now I walk with my head down, straight thinking,
How can I get back, I wanna go now,

I been on paper forever and it’s killing me,
Finish one, catch another case, are you kidding me?
Another year, another dollar well spent,
So my government, can eventually get rid of me,
Yeah, I did some dumb shit trying to get the paper,
I never was a hater, and I never was a player,
Except for there, I was the man, you don’t understand,
Fucking more chicks than fingers on my hands,

And feet in a week, discreet and complete,
Spreadin’ my seed and skeetin’, makin’ ‘em queef,
Then I got here and it’s a whole ‘nother story,
I got lonely, cuddling with Rosy in the morning,
It’s a fight just to get back to the top,
I hate cops, I’m the kid holding the mop,
To much trouble so the drinking had to stop,
I’m cooking up an album, it’s about to drop, yeah…

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Lyrics, Vicious, with High Knowledge Crew

Emcee Hell

[Racine Cipher:]

I triple dare you to scuffle wit my flows,
And get eternally cast in these infernal shadows,
With verses that literally make your careers ephemeral,
Like a still born, I baptize ya in my lyrical,

Furnace, and extemporaneously calcine emcees exponentially,
In Kelvin degrees, nigga please, I’ma be, the poet That’ll walk you up to Purgatory,
Through nine cycles of Hell of Divine Comedy,

My fire’ll scorch you, like the lost souls,
Exposed in the inferno’s pyroclastic prose,
I wrote paragraphs of rap on the pinnacle of hip-hop,
Put me on your top three as I make your head bop,

With these Illmatic, mad charismatic, highly acclaimed,
Anti-Satanic rhymes that put heatin emcees to shame,
Mighty High knowledge be the name of the God you must praise,
Or get blazed forever doomed in these hectic cages

[Lazarus Zillah:]

Hellish riddles, stab like Devil sickles,
Halos hang you, crucifix blade maim you,
Trianed Catholic, rap shit shameful,
The Holy Nigga, plus a Bible of lyrics,

Like bullets from rifles, you feel it,
Chefin’ like Raekwon in Hell’s Kitchen, just listen,
Slice emcees, mic hand missing,
Rotund shit, I’m a conondrum, I damage the ear drums,

Lyrical redrum, fall from Heaven’s ceiling,
Depart the darkness with deceased beings,
Flesh meltin’, Hell’s mouth open to receive cretins,
Shattered hope and dreams broken to pieces,

Get lost in the meaning of emceeing,
Burn like match splints, turn bones to ashes,
Matchless classics too deep to fathom,
I’m done with this nigga, Satan, you can have him

[Eddiebingo:]

Critical, your condition when I’m finished spittin’,
Welcome to the gates of Heaven, here’s your Notice of Eviction,
Listen, I shine bright, in fact, I glisten,
You can’t fly with angels, that’s wishful thinkin’, pimpin’,

I’m annoying like Jehovah’s people witnessing,
Knock on your door giggling, with a grenade, pin missing,
Satirical, lyrical, ghostly, ethereal,
Just getting close to me would take a serious miracle,

And with High Knowledge on my left and my right,
You’ll be reading dictionaries for the rest of the night,
Sequencing tracks, to sentence these cats, to a,
Crack in the Earth to burn on Lucifer’s racks,

So, see you in Hell, fuckers, you’ve just been subpoenaed,
I’ll keep you in my thoughts, send you some Aquafina,
And while I walk the land rockin’ the bells,
You try and dig your way out of Emcee Hell

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Lyrics, Vicious, with High Knowledge Crew

HK Holiday

[Racine Cipher:]

I’m feelin a jazzy vibe in the booth, my oh my,
A hundred proof liquor fire got me feeling fly,
I’m fixin’ to touch the sky, shades always on my eyes,
Nights in haze and days without sunrise,

That’s a HK Holiday, it’s the way we celebrate,
Bring the Hennessy, and leave the drama at the gate, cuz,
You don’t want it with us, you fuss, but we bust,
You cuss, but we snuff first, back off, don’t kill my buzz,

I’m a wild party animal, check my manual,
From Paris, New York to Senegal, I seen it all did it all,
Did her against the wall in the hall in the park in fall,
Fall back the car seat in the parking lot at the mall,

I ball harder than all of y’all like first draft pick overall,
Call me Lebron of hip-hop, nigga I’m grippin my ball,
Then I layback still leanback without a Maybach,
Yo, This ain’t Joe crack, but my game stays fat

[Lazarus Zillah:]

Every dog has his day, and every whore gets plagued,
I guess I’ll be barking when my fuckin flesh burn away,
Today I woke up kinda buzzed from this Holiday,
40 ounce, bounce fuckin bitches like Sasha Grey,

A classic HK joint in the back spinnin,
A nigga grinnin, drinkin poison like adrenaline,
X’s in my eyes, green lust in my ex’s eyes,
Demons to work out, hope this weed help ‘em exercise,

If not, I hope Racine still got them rosaries,
Saying Hail Mary’s while I’m smashin’ bloody mary’s,
Unfortunately, my strong leg ain’t righteous piety,
So I stand I stand on my weak limb, pass the Seagram’s,

Inhale that shit like it’s oxygen that I breathe in,
See souls in ciphers, and eat through ‘em,
Drunk, can’t speak fluid, with a headache like a tumor,
The HK Holiday, someone’s gotta do it

[Eddiebingo:]

It’s the HK Holiday, welcome to the ritual,
When cash is pinnacle, we make it habitual,
Drink and smoke enough to lock up your ventricles,
We been fly since ’82, elementary school,

It’s when we’re chillin’ like the 30 packs jammed
in the back of the fridge – ladies, have some zinfandel,
We might just be up for days, condoms by the case,
Pack your Tampax, in case you got your menstrual,

You’re in the midst of a coalition of tacticians,
with ammunition, summon apparitions like Wiccans,
Sometimes our ghosts come back to haunt us,
When people wrong us, we crucify like Pilate Pontius,

There the pigs go, the neighbors don’t like us,
It’s 10 below, we’re outside with cold ciphers,
At 4 in the morning, ain’t no time for yawning,
We just carry on till the breaka breaka dawn, yeah!

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