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lirik lagu poppy seed delight – payday monsanto

message to the one*trick ponies, and them cookie*cutter c*cksuckers…f*ck ’em…just me, and d*lo, baby…be a hundred men…

yo…you’re now f*ckin’ with one of the most ferocious rhyme throwers, off the top of the dome truth spitters, and mind blowers. i’ll grip a mic, and alter your state with divine powers, hittin’ fine flowers, that keep you high for 29 hours…

yo, next time one of y’all clowns put out a double*album…put out a double*album, not 2 cd’s half*full, dummies…

these vagabond’s gon’ wanna fight all day, and most the night. jokers wanna fight? i’ll strike likе overnight, stay local, still worldwide in the samе focal. (them dudes is tight) the music i write, slated to play global, do what i’m supposed to, i told you a thing, or two. acknowledge it, the street scholarship that i bring to you, among some other stuff. most wars are cover*ups, most rappers only happen by accident, like when the rubber busts. i’m spittin’ bars, like prison guards should be watchin’ ’em, what i achieve in 2, they can’t do with a box of them. your only consolation’s a surprise bag of tube*socks, f*ck what your neighbor be sayin’, that b*tch a news*box. i’m only tryin’ to look out, and do what’s best for you, it’s best to take the petty hand*to*hands, back in the vestibule. it’s too hot for improvisions, stick to the writtens, plus your freestyle, go “meow” like a litter of kittens. carcinogens i’m spittin’ only gonna doom your body, still you grabbin’ mics, and actin’ like you know some new karate, no jew can rob me of my vision, son. it’s super*godly, like i’m born illuminati, nothin’ you can do to stop me. just pay your dues, and lobby, amateur’s pursue your hobby, talkin’ too ill, in lieu of sk!ll, and plus you do it sloppy. i write, produce, distribute, just as quickly, witness the multiplicity, never before in history. (oh, yeah) goodie*goodie, put the mic in the jack, we back the way it should be, and it’s right & exact. it’s almost like these rookies got a license to lack, i’ll make ’em boogie*woogie, like a knife in the back. booty mc’s get bitter, ’cause they know their sh*t’s foul, now rush the f*ck back to rehab, like limbaugh. i heard your album, virtually ever jawn was wack, you’re exactly what’s wrong with rap…
you suckas get a god*kick, from playin’ a victim, and holdin’ steel, i’ll grab the device, and clean out your system, like golden seal. on another level of which your aspiring rock stars tribe, name a block after my c*ck, call it “rock hard drive”. make it a broad street, with lots of tall buildings that touch the blue skies, that symbolize how i be fillin’ it up. far from error*less, but i crossed the meridian effortless, plus i stay iniquitous, as a lybian terrorist. had a whole entire establishment (sorry about that) tryin’ to bury us, but they don’t worry us…
(sorry about that)
what happened, dog?
(you can’t s*say that, it’s september 12th, now)
what?
(we’re fcc compliant, and…)
really?
(…we can’t…yeah)
that’s a f*ckin’ bummer, man…
(i’m sorry about that. do you have a revised version…)
f*ck…
(…you might be able to spit?)
uhhh..no i don’t, mr. spencer…
(well, you’ll have to revise that, according to article 804*b…)
good ‘ol spencer, the censor…
(…uh, page 35…)
let’s try this one…
(…of the fcc rules & regulations…)

- payday monsanto

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