Super Dope Lyrics
Turf Rider
Hold the phone! The hype ain’t overblown.
Locals only. I’m back to going rogue alone.
Pogue mahone! Faux-golden vocal tone.
Dig these please. Big cheese - provolone.
Broken bones of foes buried in the graveyard.
Impotent rappers better implement safeguards
I’m riding in race cars. Call me a wise fool.
Beat freaking. I peaked when I was in high school.
Yeah, cards dealt.
This junky gets funky like a fart smell.
Hard sell. Today’s rappers are heartfelt.
Mic source. Strike Force - Rick Martel.
50-pound barbells. Fly retiree.
MC to a high degree. By decree of the
President skeezoid, regiments deployed.
Hotter than the summer sun, #1 b-boy
Fatality! Sick like a malady.
*shrugs* No drugs, I’m raw-dogging reality.
Fallacy: hip hop’s a young man’s game.
Instead of smoking that crack, should have drunk champagne.
That’s a dumb campaign. A dumb hill to die on.
Boy, stand still, you can’t kill an icon
I’m like a python, not some phony alpha.
The technician. The definition. Tony Alva.
Maniacal roughneck. Unrecognizable!
Sizable chunks of punk rock in dump trucks.
Dumb fucks better run, I’m coming with num chucks.
Somewhat fresh, yes. Living in a camper van.
Rapper man. Lord knows. Wardrobe: Dapper Dan
Thinking of a master plan of attack mode
Crap load of raps. Mad Max of the backroads.
Triple threat. Let’s make a little bet.
Said I was done but didn’t make it official yet.
Grizzled vet with shovels and shoe horns
Born outlaw kicking open the saloon doors.
A few more things to say and some new goals,
Exams, eight diagrams and bamboo poles.
Not looking for shortcuts and loopholes.
Late career outburst, I’m Albert Pujols.
Cereal in soup bowls. Working on material.
By any metric, I’m the imperial.
Cold magisterial, imperious, pompous!
Unchecked. Lone suspect. No accomplice.
The kid shows promise. Quickdraw McGraw. It goes
On and on, on and on… Freeze!
Sucker MCs are like sheep with thick wool.
Done. Executive producer Dick Wolf.
Mono No Aware
Bam! Rocking with a brass band
Out in the badlands with Sissy Spacek.
Shitty paycheck. Play me in a shifty tape deck?
Man, that rubs me the wrong way like gritty latex.
I break necks like EPMD. You pay a premium fee.
I’m finely tuned at 92 BPM speed.
Deviant breed. Rhyming since saying them began, yo.
Moving my hand like I’m playing the piano.
The mystic declared: listen = this whole horrific affair can only fail
Holy grail. Specific and rare.
Art carcass. A maladaptive form of catharsis and it’s
Usually driven by nihilistic despair.
Bass - goes deep down. In other words, profoundly.
Regal. I’m a giant eagle with fire all around me.
I’ve got a mountain for a face. You found my flaw.
But I’m nice on the mic and I’m down by law.
Useless promises are leaving people panic-stricken.
Ruthless like Rufus Thomas doing the organic chicken.
What? I’m sending out the hip hop distress call:
YES. YES. Y’ALL.
Come on! I’m rockin’. From New York to Washington State
And I’m smashing every fastball that crossing the plate lately.
I’m watching my weight. Breaking. Evicted the bums like a
Landlord on the dance floor. Addicted to drums.
Hurry up. I’m surly/gruff. You’re softer than a curly puff.
Fan of Metallica but you don’t like their early stuff.
Surely you jest. The excess is so gross to me.
I’m not always enraged by the things I’m supposed to be.
I’m not an alpha male. More like an alfalfa male.
Little rascal. Official radical. I shall prevail.
Hallelujah. The doors close. Skipping the awards show.
I got another break for ya after the horns blow.
Criminal mastermind. My job’s robbing the bastards blind.
Broken back. Fractured spine. Some say, “you’re past your prime!”
Forecasting disaster time. I’m the lyricist.
Conspiracy. theorist. Mysterious. Pioneering fearlessness.
Serious b-boy fanatic destroying toys with mathematics
Behold: the glare of golden era rap classics.
Banging. With the hammer of Thor, I pound away thoroughly.
Housing. 5000. I’ll see you folks around the way.
Challenge To The Underground
Okay-okay-okay. Keep your god-forsaken shirt on.
I’ve been down in Satan's workshop, honing my craft like Clayton Kershaw.
Playing like a blatant dirt dog. Watching a Herzog motion picture.
Busted windows, broken fixture. Concocting a potion mixture.
Wrecking shit with an eager passion. Sermonizing, preacher-fashion.
Got the woofer/tweeter cracking. The ring leader, Peter Jackson.
None of that feature action. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting.
Edgy hip hop heads predicting. Envy grows with every listen, bitches.
Truthful-lawful. Troubadour. Totally brutal-awful.
Gooble-gobble. One of us. Covets approval. Use the google model.
Giddy up idiot. This city’s insidious, isn’t it? Disavow it.
Lost reality. You can’t piss on hospitality. I won’t allow it!!
Twin blades - inlaid. Human skin trade
Violent violins play. Parameters. Ask my manager, Ruben Kincaid.
Invade the outer reaches. You ain’t fresh, you’re frozen fish.
I close my fist… And it goes like this.
Thunderclouds. Reigning hell on the younger crowd.
Forbidden records spun around. A challenge to the underground.
I wonder how it happened… I know it’s out of pocket.
First love: robotic lady legs - the video for “Rockit”.
Herbie Hancock. Dirty shamrock. Curried ham hock.
A mix of funk and early glam rock. Break the chains and sturdy padlock.
Ad hoc business for digital free trade. Shield yourself from invisible heat rays.
Miserable DJs. Original screenplays. Typical cliche. Pitiful D grade.
Critical.
Matched and dripping. Scratching. Ripping. I know how to catch ‘em slipping.
I’m talking egos and optics. May have to veto some topics.
Soon I’mma need some orthotics. Neat-o: I’m eating cheetos with chopsticks.
Exotic dancers battling. Traveling backwards, right or wrong.
Happily, appetite is strong. Underground - it’s where I belong.
Destroy the city. Trust the forest. Disgusted. Don’t be such a tourist.
Bust the chorus.
Super-Dope
Behold - one man, five tools.
Diving for jewels. Now we’re playing by my rules.
I prefer to do it crudely.
Searching for the breaks that elude me.
All day working with the lab techs.
Monster and I’m sponsored by ‘brand x’.
Super-advanced like the Aztecs.
Got a job working for Crantex.
Fastball. Throw one down the middle, maybe.
Helps if the hitter thinks that you’re a little crazy.
Wack MCs fail to enamor.
Everything looks like a nail to a hammer.
Ten years living in exile.
Don’t ask why. Classified x-file.
Unloading the beats and rhymes. Either/or
Stevedore. Shout out Grand Wizard Theodore
S-U-P-E-R… That’s super
D-O-P-E - Superdope!
2-4-7, 3-6-5 Dope! Dope! Dope! Dope!
I’m a bona fide silly person.
Let’s ride the whirlwind. Millie Perkins.
Still working outside the orthodoxy.
I think Spider-Woman’s sorta foxy.
Clearing a path, I take my own course.
Weight training like I’m playing pro sports.
Ain’t no way. I’m taking no shorts.
Blown microphone in my left hand.
This is ’87-era Def Jam.
Because I’m a rebel without applause.
The studio setup is makeshift
In this now, I can’t escape it.
I sleep at night in a snake pit
Things are about to go apeshit.
S-U-P-E-R… That’s super
D-O-P-E - Superdope!
2-4-7, 3-6-5 Dope! Dope! Dope! Dope!
I’m the Birmingham Screwdriver.
Scuba diver, straight swimming through fire.
Power up the Vic 20.
Sick with it. Make a bit of quick money.
Coming with the straight dope force feed.
Number One - engage warp speed.
This one’s for the dessert lovers.
Full send. Gary Young. Dirt Brothers.
Yo, I’m high vibration.
Snap-crackling like fried bacon.
Used to be the voice of nerds.
Now it’s a bad choice of words.
Flying before I was allowed to run.
It’s easy. Lemme show you how it’s done.
Whole army - take ‘em on to the break of dawn.
S-U-P-E-R… That’s super
D-O-P-E - Superdope!
2-4-7,-3-6-5 Dope! Dope! Dope! Dope!
I can’t help it. I was born like this.
When I was a little baby, my first tooth was gold.
My first words were yes, yes, y’all
B-boyin’ in diapers.
Programming drum machines in pre-school.
Miniature muscular genius-ass toddler.
I was on the ones and twos before I learned how to ride a bike.
Super Dope.
Evil God
Check Sun Tzu. The world is burning. Turning the thumbscrews.
Attack and fight. Half mast. Flying the colors: black and white
The skull and the crossbones. Rocks thrown. Firearms expel shells
This is where the devil himself dwells. I’m ringing hell’s bells.
Witches yell spells. I’m selling ‘em death machines.
Troops deployed. Meager rations. Steroids and amphetamines.
Destroy the enemies. Kick up dust. Stick up ducks.
We’re going wholly sonic. Driving Napoleonic pickup trucks.
No hiccups just forward momentum and venom and veterans forgiven
Disgraced. For once we’ll give ‘em a taste of their own medicine.
Dreading a satanic invention. Appearing manic.
Clear a path immediately. The media engineering panic.
But don’t buy what the reporter sells. War Of The Worlds.
Orson Wells. Cancer attacking normal cells and mortar shells
Flying off storage shelves. Cast your hooks toward the deep.
Read a book before you sleep and take a look before you leap.
Cities severely shelled. You can clearly tell.
Imprisoned in a dreary cell. Delivering supplies and materiel.
Surprise attack. Hijack exercises. Praise the kaiser.
Pass the inspection points and when you see me, raise your visor.
Heat miser. Hellfire. Melts iron. Street finder.
Navigator. Eradicator. Run ‘em through the meat grinder.
Rewinder. A brand new kind of annihilation:
My way. Violation. From here to the Minas Basin
And back again. Treacherous waters. Seen the piranhas
Latina madonna. Soundtrack Carmina Burana. Ominous.
The time is upon us finally. Feel the moment’s weight.
Automatic weapons. Autocratic addict.. The potentate.
Opens the gates to the devil’s tower. Devours generals.
Dissolves the 12 olympians and increments the power levels.
Gravity’s grasp has me exaggerating the fables maybe.
Navigating the angles and agitating the angels.
No more talk. We’re performing a sure shot panacea.
Not hardcore rock. No stopping Warhawk Tanzania.
Rewarded warthogs and zebras. We’re unlocking the attack dogs.
An application backlog. Lost in a black smog situation.
Mission statement delivered. Whispering the secret wisdom.
Weakened victims. “Enter Sandman” on the speaker system.
Bam-bam! Better yet, programming Sun Ra records.
Breaking gun laws technically. Running directly into a buzzsaw.
Endless Counter-Attack
Going underground. I travel to the depths.
Fighting tooth and nail - a battle to the death.
Kick him in ass. Smack him in the face.
Take it to the stage. Pack ‘em in the place
Straddling the line. Picking up an axe.
Burning down the house. Ripping up the wax.
Bleeding from the nose. I throw the coup de grace.
A certain set of skills to show ‘em who’s the boss.
Flew across the seven seas with weapons for a sinful session.
Just before I burned the city down I asked a simple question…
Bass for your face and adds max fuel to the subwoofer.
Grabs the medulla. You betcha. Fool, I’m Abdullah The Butcher.
Get the picture? I’m pushing ‘em. Bashing ‘em. Check. Necks snapping echoed.
A palm smack. Electrodes made to explode on contact.
Next episode.
Review the train of thought.
Grew to hate the law.
Ooh, I like it raw.
Mood to bang a gong.
Buddha’s sacred song.
I knew the wait was long.
It’s rude to make ‘em yawn.
Who will take the pawn?
You should make a bomb.
To the break of dawn
To a certain extent.
Buried in dirt and cement.
Word. How many styles can one person invent?
With raw sound factors. C’mon now. Calm down rappers and dirty
Dog pound trackers attacked with compound fractures and shit.
Suckers polishing an old brass knob.
Bugging out like a stone wack job.
Nastier than a gross fat slob.
Kiddies gonna say ‘whoa’ - Black Rob.
Meditate as the thought rotates.
Violating that’s not OK.
Coming back with a hot showcase.
Lousy-ass rappers got no bass.
Tick-tock. I’m on time like a Swiss clock.
Tick-tick. A bouquet of flowers for Slick Rick.
Gentle nudge. I’m judgmental. I embody snobby thoughts.
Got this ungodly hobby locked and so your sloppy copy’s mocked.
I’m strictly sticking with the old school “Ladi Dadi” talk.
I’ll block a raw karate chop. It’s the body-body rock.
Treacherous. Rap madness incarnate taking target practice.
Train Music
Yo, I may be scrawny.
But I’m like JB Mauny, man.
I’m ready to ride calmly. Right through a tsunami.
You saw me. Cold maneuvering. Too naughty.
Holy Toledo!
We don’t need no ego freak show.
Iron man, I remain incognito.
Way down below. Fire torpedo.
No knock as the police raid.
Low-key trade. No, I won’t be swayed.
If I put my shit on Spotify, I won’t be paid.
So abort mission. Codify Roe v. Wade
Dead right. It’s time to get hype.
Hip hop martyr hitting harder than a lead pipe.
Old school tube socks. Boombox cassette-type.
Lightning flash.
Electrifying. Death-defying rapper that’s white and trash.
Titans clash. Attack in a brutal fashion.
Crucial. Smashing. Showing ‘em no compassion.
Action-packed. Teeth gnashing and lacerations.
Drastic street reaction. Assassination.
There’s gonna be a backlash. Act fast
You shoulda went to math class jackass…
Your shit is slapdash. Pastiche.
This type of rapping is something you can’t teach.
Ashes to ashes. Straight outta Lowcash.
Cannonball go splash. Rap fans throw trash at you.
Slashing ‘em. Taking irrational measures.
Lashing out at ‘em. I’m a national treasure.
Making some quick cash. Yes, it’s a bit rash.
Crossfade mishmash. Giving ‘em whiplash.
Everything under the sun.
Prototype b-boy. A-#1, yo.
Can’t count the cities and the towns I saw, man.
Licensed to kill ‘em and I’m down by law.
I’m dropping the hammer.
This here is train music. No glitz and glamor,
Poo butt. I’ll give your whole posse a crew cut.
When I’m in Japan I my buy records at Groovenut.
Breach The Wall Of Smoke
Forever fly like an insomniac tree sparrow.
I’m Tokyo drifting a red Pontiac Fiero.
You’re pushing a wheelbarrow. I lower the pen
And it’s like 1992 all over again.
I’m postering them. Mercury rising. I’m dirty Hercules.
Berzerker. Maybe not the richest but ain’t no one out-working me.
Concrete crypt encasement, I ripped the basement and
Now I need a hip replacement
Getting funky with Vaughn Squire.
Divine Styler show, we lit a turntable on fire.
Occupiers leave. I’m underneath like Shaquille O’Neal.
Sealing the deal when I detoxify the wheels of steel.
It feels surreal. You’re dealing with a golden desperado.
Putting you on the defensive like Nolan Arenado.
Odd flow. No buts. I go nuts on the dope cuts.
Showboat, I roll both my socks into donuts.
Breach the wall of smoke. I seal the vault.
Death from above, y’all. It’s an aerosol air assault.
Default setting is dope. I’m ego tripping.
Free flow flipping. Sending my love down at the depot, shipping.
Me and my amigos. We’re practicing falconry.
Don’t fuck around. I’ll abubaca your balcony.
Alchemy. I stared at Maren Jensen wearing hair extensions
At the record fair convention. I could hardly bear the tension!
Ugh! I’m sending a shout out to Eminem.
I love you bro but yo - take it easy on the Just For Men.
We old! I know that my reflection is blurred and ghostly.
Sheep wearing coyote fur. I prefer to work remotely.
I’m certain, mostly. Chiseling my rhymes into gravestones.
Beige tones. Not a fake dirtbag like Trey Jones.
I break bones but only my own. You’re polyethylene.
I’m staying underground and you’re getting off at Bethnal Green.
Overthrow The Surface
Coming out swinging like Hagler versus Hearns. The circus burns.
Playing a covert role to overthrow the surface.
Now read the terms of service turds. I’m running up my word score.
Nerds are squirming nervous ‘cuz I’m setting off a turf war.
While riding a surfboard and I’m stalking a shark.
Send you back to the burn ward. It’s a walk in the park.
Rocking very punk. Digging for the buried sunken treasure.
I could do this forever so call me cowboy Terry Funk.
From beyond, I respond emphatically: nope.
Ain’t nobody out here automatically dope.
So stay hungry, latecomer. I’ll play another straight stunner.
Chasing down a page-one-er with a raygun like blade runner.
The A-1 sound. Lay one down, for instance.
Leaving imprints. Doing wind sprints.
Until I get shin splints. Wearing dookie rope gold and herringbones.
Colossal. I’m impossible to kill like Sharon Jones.
Kicking it like Jim Kelly. Illin’. I’m illustrious.
Official. Making do with very little, I’m industrious.
The dustiest. The well-read killer. The shed builder.
Drinking water straight from the tap with no lead filter.
I won’t falter. Won’t alter my sound for the vice squad.
Exhausted. Tightwad. Rocking Izod Lacoste and an
iPod. Cold snow. The old pro conjectured.
I’m astounding and I don’t mind sounding like a broken record.
Sounding like a broken record. Vinyl is lush black.
Allowed to hate. Crowd the plate, I’m throwing a brushback past ya.
That fast. Flat-blasting the fat layer.
Highest exit veto of the stat-cast era.
I’m in the area. Try and grapple with flying shrapnel.
Smashing. Kicking ass while I’m eating an apple
Pop the cork, party people. Toss the fader…
Peace Marty Siegel. Haha! See ya later. It’s like that.
Passport To Infinity
Yeah, we’re in here getting feral.
Careful. I’m putting sterile rappers in a state of peril.
I’m half werewolf. Writing raps and rubiyats.
Setting booby traps. Watching movies on the Tubi app.
I make the booty clap and both eyes swell.
Imagine the bass slapping. Seinfeld mind-meld.
Unparalleled giant applying plenty pressure.
Intensely fresher and I’m [___] than MC Escher.
Your mom’s an empty nester. I’m your godfather.
Morphine. Wearing a size fourteen clodhopper.
Fly like a quadcopter or hot air balloon.
I got a pet spider monkey and a soft-haired raccoon.
I know it’s not fair but anyway, I’m taking sides.
Never gonna break my stride like Bake McBride.
I cover the full spectrum. Inject ‘em with snake juice.
Make use of the microphone and all hell breaks loose.
Who fucks with this? No way. Nobody.
I do it all and do it well. I’m Shohei Ohtani.
Shouts out to Jorun Bombay.
Started from nothing much and we sure came a long way.
In here strong cuz we belong like Pat Benatar.
Who gave Shante the 4 at the seminar?
Credit cards and Cash Money on the cut. One of the best.
Giving a clinic. Running a test. Gave them a clue but none of them guessed it.
Catch me outside. I’m building a dovecoat.
Harassing wack rappers like passengers on the Love Boat.
I’m getting truly destroyed with Julie McCoy.
All fat, nasty drum breaks are duly enjoyed.
Troops newly deployed join and pledge allegiance.
Vandals getting caught up in scandals and malfeasance.
Bad man for all seasons. Reason and divinity.
Cold lamping and stamping your passport to infinity.
The Forbidden Words
Banzai! Bombs fly. Never letting dogs lie.
Opposition futile. Often brutal like Don Frye.
Predator. Competitor. I’m swooping like a Cooper’s hawk.
Challenger. Super Stock. Excaliber. Future shock.
Lunar rock ’til closing time. 2 o’clock approximate.
There’s no way to stop this shit ‘cuz I don’t have an opposite.
Dropping it. The Bizzie Boyz. Yo, you better change your tone.
Try me. Now you’re riding on the highway to the danger zone.
Utter the forbidden words.
Gunning when the drums are breaking, I’m not taking prisoners.
Perimeters are shattering. I’m mastering the elements.
Mechanical. I’m Hannibal with 37 elephants.
Elegant. Sophisticated. Wicked and aristocratic.
Doctoring the cut and so the oath I take is hippocratic.
Diplomatic status: just an actor in the habitus.
Play the album backwards and the outcome is calamitous
Right to left…
Fight the theft. Fight the theft.
Leaving food on the plate just to spite the chef.
The chief, the strategist. The ultimate grammaticus.
The genesis_ And I’m venomous. I’m like a platypus.
Scaddabush. The catalyst. Freaky funky. Rich in flavor.
Up for a discussion but I cut 'em down with Hitchen’s razor.
This behavior isn’t governed, covered in graffiti mess.
I sit in front of TV sets uneasy watching PBS.
Devious. Lonely wolf like Sonny Stitt.
Brandishing a buggy whip so take it easy, money grip.
Funny but it’s purposeful and with precision surgical.
Yo, I know what I’m doing with a 42-inch vertical.
I burn the flag that you saluted. Solid rock reduced to fluid.
Now I’m getting loose and stupid. This the way we used to do it.
Shoot The Invader
I’m throwing wack rappers in the trash can with the junk mail.
Fashion -posing like they’re upscale. I’m Joe-fucking-Lunchpail.
Young males become frail. Hidden away like a sickly royal.
Avoid disappointment remain strictly loyal to Ricky Doyle
Covered in sticky oil and going off the deep end. Grimy.
Crazy beats. JVC RC-M90.
You know where to find me. Chilling. Living in a snow cave.
No grave can hold me. You’re getting hit by a rogue wave.
Close shave. Your style is fragile like ceramic.
Throw me in a dungeon but power doesn’t panic.
Mechanical animal. Sharp teeth and snarls darkly.
Don’t wanna talk. Two-handed tomahawk. Charles Barkley.
I’m losing my marbles. I’m demented.
So many styles I invented.
And I’m dedicated. Solemnly sworn
And I’m letting knowledge be born.
Shark mode. Going down a dark road. Crusader.
Lay claim. Take aim. Shoot the invader. Communicator.
Drum break accumulator. One-take demon waiting.
Clear print - near mint. European grading though.
Fading slow. You can’t see me like a microbe.
Wearing a white robe. Yo, I’m hard to kill like Loab.
Maniac psycho. Chi Ali. We believe.
Quick turns. Sick burns. They’re classified in three degrees.
I’m Nanook of the north country. I crack a cold Palm Bay.
Say farewell. I’ll send you back - straight to hell like Dante.
To complicate matters, these rappers are small radius.
Standing in the tall shadow of the gods, I’m the shadiest.
Serious. I send love to the good people of Syria.
The samurai. Gratified. I meet the criteria.
Casting a wide net that properly covers the verse.
I’ll make your shit look worse like the Property Brothers.
A Gift From The Sky
I used to watch trains closely.
Grossly underrated, now I mitigate the pains, mostly.
No sleep. Freaking skinny as a stickman.
Bike with a kickstand. Hiding. Terrified of quicksand.
Dude, I was so worried about the Bermuda Triangle.
For pity’s sake, shooting cityscapes, include a wide-angle.
My tranquil surroundings would become louder at
Lunch hour. Snapping cap guns. The air smelled like gunpowder.
Here’s a question… What does it mean to be true blue?
The difference between fake and pure. Just making sure that you knew.
To whom it may concern, I’m strictly self-funded.
Solo. Zulu Nation. 1200 Hobos. I love Mojo
Doing the Juan Soto shuffle. Causing a kerfuffle.
Ruffles feathers. Could be headed for troubled weather.
With pleasure, there’s places on the map that I would gladly nuke.
Chew the fatty food. I’ll take a break to do the Patty Duke.
Next I’ll do an old-fashioned feather dance or
Freestyle wearing Run DMC-style leather pants.
Hard to kill like desert plants. Trashed, first draft destroyed.
I once read that every cool girl is half a boy.
There’s going to be a flood and surge. Now I got a sudden urge to
Stand tall. You can’t call Order 66 a purge.
Sweeter than pixie sticks. Make the same mistake twice
And like the Dixie Chicks said I’m not ready to make nice.
Hit the brake lights, it’s two hats wearing season.
I’m changing the drum track up for no apparent reason.
No guarantees. Got three kings and a pair of threes.
Diatribes and daring deeds. The new scribes and Pharisees.
I’m throwing low strikes and it goes like this.
It wasn’t in the script like Snow White’s kiss.
I know it’s problematic. Someone’s gotta take the heat.
But instead of trying to break a spell, I’ll just break a beat.
A gift from the sky. As the record begins to spin,
I’m rapping on the beach because the seaside wins again.
Brass and wind instruments happening. The crack of the snare.
Clones of clowns rapping to contrast and compare.
Snap suplex. Old wooden boats with poop decks.
Sponsored by Cruex. Tight yoga pants and scoop necks.
I’m not into group sex. Instead, I’m housing like a duplex.
Fuck the doubters. I’m here to give flowers to 2Mex.
The Monster Anarchy Zone
Cold waxing. The fragments and low fraction.
The backsliders. Spiderman. Climbing up the walls like
Bo Jackson. All talk. Yapping and no action plan.
Standing on thin ice with no TRACTION.
Solid gold and shitty crappy. Satellite and city taxi.
Complicated, tricky-crafty. Coming at it strictly nasty
I’m playing hustle sports wearing muscle shorts.
I’m Buck Melanoma, Moley Russell’s wart.
Buck Melanoma, yo - from Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Back at it once again because hell has finally frozen over.
Syllable rebound. Cynical street sound.
Typical cheap crown. Critical beatdown.
The sacred waters are contaminated with strains of germs.
Erased and cursed, the place of worship swallowed by the flames and burns.
The drunken monk that prays and learns. No, we don’t have the same concerns.
I’m famous as the name conforms, I’ll break it down in layman’s terms.
I get a lot accomplished working in a modest office.
Married to the oddest goddess. Learning from the conscious prophets.
Not just raucous. Rocking right, I’m fighting a jihadist novice.
Among the stars, the rockets, comets. Innovate like Natas Kaupas.
I preferred the dub edit. Gotta give the nerds some credit.
This is for the murdered by words subreddit.
For fuck sakes. The muck rakes are quick on the uptake.
Crushing muffins and cupcakes. All percussion and drum breaks.
This is for the dead homies. The ones who bred ponies.
Wearing headphones, I’m forging ahead lonely.
Caution. I’m basically like Kenny Lofton over here.
Maybe not a hall of famer but an interesting career.
Upper deck. Second row. Ebb and flow. Get a load.
Bust the facts. Heaven knows. Man can’t live on bread alone.
Echo chamber. Tremolo. Your prom date was a bremelo.
I’m giving off a pleasant glow. Tell your moms I said hello.