P.o.s.

P.o.s. - Half-Cocked Concepts lyrics

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First of all, Fuck Bush

That's all, that's the end of it

Second, give it up to R.S.E. for hookin' up a kid

I got the two best, the newest plus the truest;

Doomtree, Rhymesayers Entertainment (You know the name!)

Rip the quality control, from your burrows to your borders

Droppin' hot emcee's off balconies like Tony Rocky Horror

The, uh, the baby-danglin', words hanglin'

Hottest masturbatin' off the back of the neck of my soldiers' rhyme and

P.O., you know the dirty one disturbing categories

The matador in black, killin' bullshit allegories

Provide the hurt, these other beastly storing stories make em'



Get Up

Get Down

Get Up

And Get Fucked Up



I spray terms like throw-ups,

I'm 'bout to spit a feelin'

Cuz me and Turbo Nemesis are soon to be arthritic villains

Still instillin' hatred,

Laced with manifesto modes

And our back beat's to beat your heart beat off beat

Let's go



Excuse me 

Just turn it on, and leave it runnin'

Macin', nothin' of gunnin'

Nothin' linin' our pockets

We frontin' like Cool Runnings

Somethin' so simple sparkin'

We wait, but nothin's comin'

Chrome in our fingertips, they eat shit, like faulty plumbin'

Just games for days, busy bees makin' our honey

And skee ball tickets still on count, it's real money

It's somethin' so ridiculous,

Funny, so fuckin' sick of this,

Consistent lack of vision from children claimin' they listenin'



Still I'm sittin' skits and laughin' while they all missin' this

There's still songs about bitches, from 9/11 witnesses. (ha ha)

So here I am in the Middle West

The heart land ma' fucka

Sippin' whole milk ma' fucka

Our nights are colder right?

Minnesota nights, but our frost-bitten fists

For the smile stings twice so um,

Fight or Flight

Who gives a damn anyways?

So make a fuckin' difference in these apathetic names

(I tell 'em)



Lean back, just relax, we tell 'em

Get Up

Get Down

Get Up

And Get Fucked Up

We don't dance, we just pull up our pants, and then we,

Get Up

Get Down

Get Up

And Get Fucked Up

(What, you want something like a cake? Want a Guinness or somethin'?) 

Get Up

Get Down

Get Up

And Get Fucked Up



Somethin' so ridiculous,

Funny, so fuckin' sick of this,

Consistent lack of vision from children claimin' they listenin'



You look sick, homie eat a gun (I tell you (haha))

I'ma eat a gun

I look tired

It's probably the insomnia 

I sleep like Tyler Durdan



STICKIN' FEATHERS IN YOUR ASS DOES NOT MAKE YOU A CHICKEN!



Holla if you hit the bottom runnin'

A fool among the scholars 

Bumpin' somethin' about clubs, bubs, and hubs

I got a message in a bottle

Written in gas and oil

Signed with a rag and a match

Here Catch!

Slap to rebel yell

The rebels fell, embedded in brick

Ain't no fuckin' marble memorial

For pissed-off kids waitin' for desperate shicks

Like Bronson, ain't got enough to flip his face to vigilance again

Once it has been, the fifth amends

Barely our friends, who think about what's up with Jen & Ben

Once it has been (I think we should put up in this-Fuck outta here!)

Let's get out



Lean back and relax, we tell 'em

Get Up

Get Down

Get Up

And Get Fucked Up

Put the ma' fuckin' Fresca down

Get Up

Get Down

Get Up

And Get Fucked Up

(Damnit with the blood!)

Get Up

Get Down

Get Up

And Get Fucked Up



Somethin' so ridiculous,

Funny, so fuckin' sick of this,

Consistent lack of vision from children claimin' they listenin'
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

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Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: ?

Details:

Language: English

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