[Hook:]
So you should pump this shit like they do in the future.
[Verse 1:]
Got a strain un-contained that could turn parade zombie
Walk with an army on me, stalked by the harm and armor posse
Prolly got me on a radar with a dot
These watching, plotting minions of the lower God scene
Shit hawks abound, in the town of bullet dodging
I'm a Rocky, run a hundred a mile before my coffee
Shitty little sick kid, the Gipper's hitting for dolo, now I'm rarified
Signal lit verified bossy
Fuck your droid noise, void boys' 'noid ploy
Oi oi, I'll rugby-kick the shit out your groin, boy
Oi vey, the slayers of your harmony porn life
Throat fuck your lucky day, the flight of a torn kite
Holy smokes, city blown to the bone the death server
Fit a hearse with a burner, whip to the church of a murder sermon
Just a Cassandra too drained to painfully word it further
Future of a gerbil up ass of masochist, that's my word up.
[Hook]
[Verse 2:]
Pump this shit
In your floating whip system
Pump this shit
In the bread line, the prison
Pump this shit
From the chip under your wrist skin.
(You are so fucking paranoid)
I am Sam, I am known to go HAM, the full retard
Playing taps on a keytar, in the Benz or the Beamer
Either, etherlicious or rebel yelling anathema
Son of forgotten freedom, rebel ¡Arriba 'riba!
Metal and man have melted, settle in to the FEMA, dreamer
Your polluted house speaker, leader
Yes indeed a, dawn of the dirt and doom draws nearer
Here's a mirror mirror to peer, fear grows clearer
Steer a path away from the panic of our era
Pyramided ocular, unlided insignia
Weirder here's another burner born and big in ya
Sector, rectified and fly sound selector
I'm a fucking ill, trill, kill at will etc
BK to the basic DNA math measurer
Better leave the lion alone do not pet him
He'll fuck-start your burp hole, jet in burgundy pleather
Whoa.
[Hook]
[Bridge:]
Where harmony and love reign
No longer do we live in a society bent on its own destruction
Children of every race, creed and religion frolic through fields
Of golden dandelions.
Lil bitch (x3)
That's some Camu shit.
[Verse 3:]
Those who know, lust. Trust: the flow is disgust, touch
Producto back rap rush, you'll notice the lad crush
I'm potent, intact, a black-hearted and lunged-up
Tarded and touched, plus designer of funk rust
Oh, El is back on that shit, huh? That Paincave Kid talk
At the end of the painbow, the permanent stain bot
Maligning my name will holy ark up your squad's face
Viewers of the divine rage learn to worship the hard way
You get it? I don't fade, just float where the poem slays
At home with a roach hazed, alone or with hoes great
I called but got a tone: better boat out the borough posthaste.
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