[Verse 1: Monster Under the Bed]
I'll smoke your whole supply, no joke or a lie
You think I'm funny, how? Like a fuckin' clown?
I'll Joe Pesci you and your petty crew then bless the buddha
Tryna hit a ten-to-twoer
With beer goggles so big I can see the future and it's lookin' bleak
Lack a sense of humour, your style does not amuse me
Truly, I'm Henry Hoover when I'm puffin' blue cheese
On some mothership other shit, so fuck your clique
When I say I rep the cold sag run, hold that tongue
You're gettin' way out of line you little toe rag, run
Away from me, its plain to see that in a cypher
I be G-D
Feel a sense of enlightenment when I'm rhymin', and the temperature rises
It's M to O, drippin' gold, Nike tick from head to toe
How you gonna see any dough when he shadowed out
And got the drop on you from the grassy knoll
[Hook]x2
Too many emcees sound unconvincin', bitchin'
Pick up your mics and say somethin'
And too many producers loopin' wack shit
The fact is, dig in the crates and make somethin'
[Verse 2: Lee Scott]
I read my hate mail and drain ale
Live disgustin', need another spliff to function at plain sail
Dress code - strictly grayscale, plus unpressed clothes
The Wrong House, chong ounces stay pale
The spliff I lit's a great whale picture fit
Middle fingers lifted in the air, speak I'll kick your chair from beneath your feet
You feast your [?], it seems your need for beak
Has your label trippin', play the victim, but fuck that
I'm cold chillin', blazin' izm, wishin' you'd come back
So we can laugh at you again until the break of dawn
Been fucked since way back in the day before that day I'm raw
I'm blazin' till my brain's reformed
Super-ganga-fragilistic-expiala dope shit
Troopin' past ya as ya buildin, swept your splab and roast it
Won't even let you passive smoke it
I'm too busy neckin' kegs and snarlin' to ever beg a pardon
[Hook]
Too many emcees sound unconvincin', bitchin'
Pick up your mics and say somethin'
And too many producers loopin' wack shit
The fact is, dig in the crates and make somethin'
[Verse 3: King Grubb]
First of all, big up, respect to the fam
Coz when it comes to cold saggin, Blah's the best in the land
It's a stick up if I see a bud of cheddar in your hand
On the real, ale - drink from a keg, 100%
Of opinions rejected, lazy
But only sit on the fence when shittin' on heads, daily
Fuck crazy, I'm bouncin' off the wall and out the court
Wherever my brain goes, the tongue chases
King Grubb, royal blunt taster
Chastiser of the funk fakin' bitch emcees in the industry
What does humility mean? And should I give a fuck?
Sittin' off till my body sticks to the seat
A new disease can be discovered everyday of the week
Between my teeth, coz I smoke like trains frequently
Straight talkin beef, defeat
I can spill your green on the spot right now and you wouldn't even see as I leave
I'll smoke your whole supply, no joke or a lie
You think I'm funny, how? Like a fuckin' clown?
I'll Joe Pesci you and your petty crew then bless the buddha
Tryna hit a ten-to-twoer
With beer goggles so big I can see the future and it's lookin' bleak
Lack a sense of humour, your style does not amuse me
Truly, I'm Henry Hoover when I'm puffin' blue cheese
On some mothership other shit, so fuck your clique
When I say I rep the cold sag run, hold that tongue
You're gettin' way out of line you little toe rag, run
Away from me, its plain to see that in a cypher
I be G-D
Feel a sense of enlightenment when I'm rhymin', and the temperature rises
It's M to O, drippin' gold, Nike tick from head to toe
How you gonna see any dough when he shadowed out
And got the drop on you from the grassy knoll
[Hook]x2
Too many emcees sound unconvincin', bitchin'
Pick up your mics and say somethin'
And too many producers loopin' wack shit
The fact is, dig in the crates and make somethin'
[Verse 2: Lee Scott]
I read my hate mail and drain ale
Live disgustin', need another spliff to function at plain sail
Dress code - strictly grayscale, plus unpressed clothes
The Wrong House, chong ounces stay pale
The spliff I lit's a great whale picture fit
Middle fingers lifted in the air, speak I'll kick your chair from beneath your feet
You feast your [?], it seems your need for beak
Has your label trippin', play the victim, but fuck that
I'm cold chillin', blazin' izm, wishin' you'd come back
So we can laugh at you again until the break of dawn
Been fucked since way back in the day before that day I'm raw
I'm blazin' till my brain's reformed
Super-ganga-fragilistic-expiala dope shit
Troopin' past ya as ya buildin, swept your splab and roast it
Won't even let you passive smoke it
I'm too busy neckin' kegs and snarlin' to ever beg a pardon
[Hook]
Too many emcees sound unconvincin', bitchin'
Pick up your mics and say somethin'
And too many producers loopin' wack shit
The fact is, dig in the crates and make somethin'
[Verse 3: King Grubb]
First of all, big up, respect to the fam
Coz when it comes to cold saggin, Blah's the best in the land
It's a stick up if I see a bud of cheddar in your hand
On the real, ale - drink from a keg, 100%
Of opinions rejected, lazy
But only sit on the fence when shittin' on heads, daily
Fuck crazy, I'm bouncin' off the wall and out the court
Wherever my brain goes, the tongue chases
King Grubb, royal blunt taster
Chastiser of the funk fakin' bitch emcees in the industry
What does humility mean? And should I give a fuck?
Sittin' off till my body sticks to the seat
A new disease can be discovered everyday of the week
Between my teeth, coz I smoke like trains frequently
Straight talkin beef, defeat
I can spill your green on the spot right now and you wouldn't even see as I leave
( Mcabre Brothers )
www.ChordsAZ.com