Escape To 88

歌詞

[Scratches] [Verse 1] Welcome to a piece of brain tissue, my brain's lungs Filled with octane like liquid that came from Some silly, said her tits sellin illy Really? By the jar? Pump the car full of grey jelly Called her Rhonda, after I shit on the dash Cause I can't stand hooked up Hondas The three manuveur so swiftly in and out of looters Through checkpoints with juice in stashed coolers 2002, my album's played through ID on the window like it's fucking Beirut Too bad no planes flew into MTV I'll never get a platinum plaque for MP3 Being blackballed by a white MC - Pause I guess that faggot found the right MD And I'm twisted but not like faggots that suck fame This clown's insane I'm sicker with metal than mudvayne I train my following like a bitch modelin H is like a God and it won't stop hollerin Fuck needing a TV to be a rockstar Punch a hole through Mark Wahlbergs chest and dent a copcar Put my brain in it, I wouldn't last a minute Scribble some shit in 30, I'm love like gimmicks Sluts, cynics, ducks with dipped spinach Fuckin you up in the front row's good for image [Scratches] [Verse 2] I gotta walk on, half feet in Harlem for a gorilla That lost his family and want revenge on his killer Clapped the poacher, fled the stomach of rap through an ulcer Covered in blood, eating with vultures Off the chain and got a hook in his back skull to my feet Breastfeeding, moms was cooking up crack Drop me in a pot, cop in the spot, pistols gleaming in the sun Look son - I'm fistal fiendin Nine to script with leading any malicious beatings Specially if t'all left a couple bitches breathing Six is reading, bitterly gritty Caught a GTA charge before Liberty City Too bad no brains blew out no heads plenty I'll prolly die after I Blow like Ted Demme There's no conspiracy, your bitch is a forced fit In the telly yelling "Behold the pale horse dick" Fuck the Taliban, I'm back to Ballys, and Keep your little faggot brother off her Sally, man I can explain this "do not cross this line" in my brain Feds in the crib, but they're not finding the cane Cause time in the game, New York is trife My boy T on the lamb like a fork and knife The corporate life, too fond of the blonde talker So I grew a beard and switched sides like John Walker