(Down) The Left Hand Path

歌詞

I was mislead, but once I found the way I convinced a group of 19 that they should drown today How I flipped it, clipped it after madness Then the dead came back and haunted the wrong address Cause they some stupid dead motherfuckers Just like all you bitches, all Weathermen fluffers And I get my shoes polished By the best open mic emcees paying Timbaland's homage In this day and age If your deck ain't playing Cage You probably disgruntled you missed his funneled mayonnaise Or I ain't get the right palm My whole career been a upstream kayak through blood My tools love, seeing the face of opponents Seconds before they skull and wig savor the moment Light up a J, cast silence over bobbing heads Stuck underground, shit I might as well rob the dead [Chorus] Give this to the DJ then trash the clubs Lick the cover of my CD then see what acid does Don't just stand there looking like some average thugs If there's a chick standing next to you then grab her jugs And if you ain't grabbin' the dough when they ask for love Then you come back to the crib wearin' a mask and gloves Then you go back to the club stinkin' of ass and blood Yoke some kid up, dig his pockets and snatch the drugs I took a backwards education Studied some shit with broken navigation All this anti-Cage demonstratin' I don't pray to Satan I pray on agents makin' Shapeable minds Capable of firing traceable 9's But not at any pigs that make their snout's seen I don't know what I wrote till' I spit and my mouth bleeds Look, more patterns to market Not even naming I'm standin' a walkin' target with shoppers that look at me awkward Granted I got a cannon and my freakin' mouth's leakin' Cause my crew put more dust in the air than house keeping If you sleeping you're getting woke the fuck up Like you're parents while you bought this and smoke the fuck up With some much drama in the NYC I carry 9 millimeter in the back of taxi While I thought music prevented GOB servants And a cycle of brain wash entertainments to detergent [Chorus] If my thought patterns Brought palans to Walt Adams And spit violence and death, then kids start gatherin' Bloody ear canal Hold it down with a towel Cause by the time the verse hatch your stomach's hangin' out We got a verse on the loose, let's get these mouth zippers Buy six drinks a night then wake up and wear 'em as house slippers I'm just fuckin' with you bitch, don't get offended This ain't your average anti-pop record with a happy ending Go ask your block School body and bastard pops How the fuck you get your hands on acid drops Music television repellent for kids with extreme views Start torchin' labs to light your team's fuse Forgotten, plottin', rotten students been truant I keep my hands in it with no tangible influence Whether a Clockwork Orange or a murderous night A book of what my pops did to Tony Burgess's wife [Chorus]