|
Fun even funner
|
I'm the gunner sub machine gun
|
it don't seem right that they don't get my theme right
|
they don't know me
|
so we move forward
|
more words & phrases
|
my style amazes
|
come into the scene with the means to rip shit
|
my brain's power packed with the proper equipment
|
so step
|
I come inta the area to bury ya
|
I compose the flows
|
makin' people merrier
|
never the less I sever the flesh
|
with a razor
|
reserve the major beef
|
I'ma slay ya, hey
|
you never came across a person like me
|
I never instigate
|
first come strike me
|
then I'll flip
|
and rip clothing, and I'm loathing
|
MCs who front like I don't know things
|
uh uh
|
check again
|
I get wreck again
|
on the down low
|
because you sound slow
|
retarded MCs get neglected
|
& check it
|
anytime I hafta show a foe
|
I'ma flex it
|
then I exit
|
with my records & my next shit
|
prepared, so be scared
|
I strike unexpected
|
I write rhymes in sections
|
testin' my slang
|
I bang MCs with these
|
& make 'em hang
|
dangle, what's ya angle?
|
When I strangle and choke
|
I hold Bennedicts by their throat
|
until they sing notes like a canary
|
fairy, or genies
|
we slipped out
|
they never seen me bust his face
|
I like bass when it hums
|
and that sums up my properties for the dum-dums
|
someone need to check him
|
deck him
|
slam him
|
and put him in the bushes
|
so 'shush' kids
|
no one needs to know
|
I'll proceed & go into
|
and then tell ya what I've been through.
|
[CHORUS:]
|
"In one ear, right out the other,
|
Go tell ya sister, go tell ya mother,
|
In one ear, right out the other,
|
Go tell ya father, go tell ya brother,
|
In one ear, right out the other."
|
I would feel comfortable
|
if your front would go elsewhere
|
or disappear
|
hear my specific style that's speaking
|
creeking, making noises in the nightime
|
when I write rhymes
|
I look out my window
|
it's a bright day
|
and I might display my skills in the hills
|
or, in a different neighborhood
|
cause my flavor could
|
be the best, so lets test this
|
yes, bitch
|
I saw you posted at the pool table
|
I could never talk to you
|
but now a fool's able
|
with the best of luck
|
and, hey, how do you impress a duck?
|
By pullin' out a wad of bucks
|
shucks
|
I need to stop this
|
I plop this, played this
|
I murder MCs
|
& leave their pens inkless
|
do you think this is a twist
|
a turn, I insist
|
to burn those foes who haven't learned
|
to keep they mouths closed
|
Guiness Stout flows
|
through your intestines, when life is depressin'
|
I built my foundation using patients
|
some didn't hear us
|
some had to state it...
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
In And Out
|
| Del The Funky Homosapien |
