grinding like gears. brakes on a car
keep hittin the pads, drink a beer, spar
verbally. hit the keys, given em surgery
on a murder spree like damn its a courtesy
common denominator still rockin. hoppin
freights cleanin plates with no sign of stoppin
all in. royal flush, straight as spines, holdin up.
full house, Bob Saget, dirtier than the mud
punch kick like Sagat. one two shot.
of the buttery, lovely, murderous plot
and the suddenly, somethin sweet, purrin a lot
its like none of these, Butterbeans, heard of my spot
and the sounds that surround the Puget Sound
drowned by clowns in towns, living out of bounds.
out of nouns, out of verbs, out of beats, out of sounds
Surplus of hash thats exceeding the pounds
Now is the time, to spread it like butter
listen extra close to the words that i utter
from the projects to the porches to the suburbs to the gutters
span the whole globe, we the downers and the uppers
we the downers and the uppers, all the parents close their shutters
speakin on the reasons that the haters seem to stutter
and wonder where the bread comes from. we do run run
like DMC, these emcees, rising up like mercury
third at bat, in the hole, climbin up the thermostat
who is that? the lyricist thats smoother than a new born's ass...
thats me. Hash. the mad scientist rap. takin
snaps gettin daps, takin dabs in the back.
