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 your Mrs. Funnel 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 scull and wig savor the moment

Light up a Jay, cast silence over Bob

And hair stuck on the ground, shit I might as well rob the dead



[Chorus]

Hear this to the DJ then track the clubs

Lift 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 ass below

Then you come back to the crib wearin' a mask and gloves

Then you go back to the club stinkin' of ass and blood

Joke some kid up diggin' pockets and snatch the drugs



I a backwards education

Studied some chick 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 kegs that make they snout's see

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 canon 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 rhymin' 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 gaddin'

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 the team's fuse

I've gotten plottin', rotten ? been chewing

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]