lirik lagu herd management – payday monsanto
i got an occultic style that’s been hidden for a while, to make the true*blue hip*hop fans smile. mrpaidhizduez & he’s ’bout to run the dial. slip into my shoes, & you will not walk a mile. every single time i pick a mic up, i spit sh*t rough that’ll pick a dyk* up. i’m all about the notion & open to unity, well loved in the feminine*lesbian community. royalty, son i’m born to a king, love to make love to a h*rn & a string. f*ck the world, ’cause human*resources owe me, i measure every girl by a woman named sophie. that means wise, this a lyrical еxercise, masqueradе i’ll rip off ‘ya disguise…
i breathe life into the mic with a stryfe & a stress, f*ck a mint i’m bent & it’s liking my breath. vampire rappers they bitin’ to death, that’s why i eat garlic & onions, they fightin’ the death. i came to offer you solutions, but make me step out the truck with the uzi, & i’m shootin’. sharply, just call me highlander, focused on my target, never hit a bystander. money hungry to help the women & children, & i won’t stop ’till i’m swimmin’ in millions. where these m*th*f*ckas get the audacity questionin’ my veritas & veracity? that means truth, all i do is educate the youth, spit it in a mic, f*ck a booth…
young girls are walkin’ ’round half*naked, overstimulated & undereducated. adolescents are eager to grab a c*ck, trained by pop culture, straight from tavistock. you think it’s a accident, you f*ckin’ misfit, that krs*one & chuck d was blacklisted? i spit sh*t off tha top of the dome, hip*hop is my home, it’s not about poppin’ tha chrome. but i will if tha situation calls for it, young bulls don’t wanna brawl, they ain’t got the b*lls for it. but, they aim is lame, they should go to the range, to get they shoot on. they only lukewarm, that means cold in my book, the hands i hold’ll make a m*th*f*cka fold if they look…
just call me poker face when i’m sittin’ at tha table, poke ‘ya face with an icepick, and then i rape you. with a beer*bottle, you just a queer*model, grazin’ in the grass like sheep, and real docile. i walk the streets with a cam to record ‘ya from j*pan to gibraltar, taping lambs to the slaughter. payday, it’s only fools that’ll doubt him, you will lose in the outcome, if you snooze on my album. i’m a m*th*f*ckin’ bonified prophet, you a m*th*f*ckin’ slave son, your owner lied stop it. if you qualified to call yourself my enemy, you just may be eligible for the penalty. and, that means grounds for murda, i won’t hesitate to murk a clown, with a sound he never heard*a…
(inhales)
my style’s the cleanest, biters whiten they dentures, straight g*nius, i’m too bright for mensa i could mumble on mics, don’t need a catchy tune, homeland security’s gon come to get me soon. so, i’m assemblin’ the bulk of my bubblegum, turn me into incredible hulk, & it’s troublesome. honest to god i’m only bendin’ ’em to bubbledom, everyday i get a bunch of benjamin’s, & doubled ’em. (hocks, then spits) it’s true, i’m known to spit alot of mucus, tell ‘ya somethin’ good like rufus, peace to my n*gga lucas. despite any kind of misunderstanding, you f*ck with my boy & you will get a brandin’. that means you get scorched with iron sh*t, they beggin’ me to sell my farm, i’m not buyin’ it…i love my cattle too much (inhales quickly) mooooo
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