P.O.S - Half Cocked Concepts





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Uploaded on Oct 3, 2006

lookin like a lo-fi 'drop it like its hot.'

taken from wearempls.com
available on the Doomtree Blowout DVD

First of all fuck Bush
Thats all thats the end of it
Second give it up to RSE for hooking up a kid
I got the two best, the newest plus the truest
Rhymesayers Entertainment
You know the name
Breath and quality control from your boroughs to your borders
Dropping hack emcees off balconies like Tony Rock Horror
Truest baby-dangling word tangling
How to snatch the band-aid off the back of the neck of Marsalis Wallace
You know the dirty one disturbing categories
The matador in black killing bullshit allegories
Provide the herky-jerky beats and stirring stories make em
Get up get up get up and get something done
I spray terms like throw ups
Im bout to spit a fill in
Cause me and Turbo Nemesis are soon to be arthritic villains
Still instilling hatred laced with manifesto morals
And a backbeat to beat your heartbeat up people lets go

Just turn it on and leave it running
Nation under the gun and nothing lining our pockets
We frontin like "Who want it?!?"
Something so simple spoken we waiting but nothing coming
Curling our fingertips sit in shit like faulty plumbing
Just game for days busy bees makin that honey
And skee-ball tickets still dont count as real money
Its something so ridiculous funny so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from children claiming they listening
Still Im sitting in stitches laughing while they all missing this
Theres still songs bout bitches from nine eleven witnesses
So here I am in the middle west
The heartland mafucka
Sippin whole milk mafucka
Our nights are colder right?
Minnesota nice
But a frostbit fist for the smile stings twice so uh
Fight or flight
Who gives a damn anyway
Does it make a fuckin difference in these apathetic days

They tell em to lean back
Just relax
We tell em
Get up get up get up and get something done
Something so ridiculous funny so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from children claiming they listening

You look sick homie, eat a gun
Ima eat a gun I look tired
Its probably the insomnia I sleep like Tyler Durden
Sticking feathers in your ass does not make you a chicken
Holler if you hit the bottom running
A fool amongst the scholars bumping something bout 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
Aint no fuckin Marlboro memorial for pissed off kids waiting for Death Wish 6
Like Bronson aint got enough to flip his fangs to vigilance again
Wont sit and spin then fake amends
Bury our friends and think about whats up with Jen and Ben
We sit and spin
I think weve been up in this club a little too long


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