[Verse 1:]

I walked in a saloon at high noon, the moonshine sipper

Spit a new rhyme till it's asta la vista

The king balloon twister, smash your transistor

"It's the High Plains Drifter", that had to resist the

Sickness of the city life, I sat by the river

A packet of Rizzler and a flask full of liquor

Made the locals ask: "who's the masked figure?"

Fill a page with the pain it seems you can't picture

The last heavy hitter, so many consider me

To be very bitter, switching up my delivery

Stitching up my injuries, and flipping imagery

Mixing toxins till I'm lost in the synergy

Drown in my misery, a man of mystery

I stand in the blistering heat as the epitome

Of the anti-hero, tipping my Stetson

Space cowboy, I drink whiskey with George Jetson

Two thousand and one, the space western

Quick on the draw, bring a war to your section

Blood Sport veteran, contraband cargo

The known desperado rolled into ?



[Scratches]



[Verse 2:]

I ride with lost peasants, hot stepping across deserts

Letting the dust settle for sheep who watch shepherds

Yeah I rock sessions, with unorthodox methods

The messenger, ready for death when God beckons

On frontlines worldwide kids have got weapons

And grey skies hide sunshine from the heavens

I'm threatened, by the seven sins of my species

I don't need TV, I read tea leaves

Smoke the peace pipe, in the chief's tepee

I speak freely, the 3D graffiti writer

Is kinda like the new easy rider

More bad apples in the cruel and cheap cidar

I breath fire, the propane flamethrower

Man the fort for this hostile takeover

I play poker-faced, hold a ace

Tucked up my sleeve, leave your mouth with a sour taste

That's just how I play the game nowadays

Apologies to the crowd, I'm a hour late



[Scratches]



[Verse 3:]

Battling me? That'd be an embarrassing mistake

Like promoters who don't get the "H" in the right place

My mic stays in close range, I travel the low plains

But drift on a high like cocaine

Exchange words with the man with no name

Inspectors, throwing up letters on the ghost train

I rotate, like old brakes on chrome plates

Hunched up, punching keys till my bones ache

I blow fakes outta the water, chucking harpoons

You can't move, running on the spot like a cartoon

Leaving a trail of destruction when I pass through

The drunk fool, fighting off demons with a barstool

Screaming "Ja Rule", my instincts are carnal

The dirty rascal, or the king of the castle?

I'm partial to both titles, the soldier's quote in the Bible

Holding my rifles to false idols

I love the crackle on the old vinyl, I rock break loops

And make moves from my HQ

I stay true to the ancient ways

The herbalist curb-surfer riding paper waves