[Eon]
|
I stalk down the block, grabbin my jock
|
Scratch cocks while I dot for my red light stop
|
Dead right Hobbes I write rhymes for a livin
|
Hid my misgivings from my brain was still mssing
|
|
[Cage]
|
Read and study while my boots muddy
|
So fuckin filthy an Avirex butters look bummy
|
Think out loud, cause I'm allowed, to stage dive in a crowd
|
of cannibals about to spit across my eyebrow
|
|
[Eon]
|
Now God blessed me with abnormal tendencies
|
and granted clemency for illegal chemistry
|
Ain't worth your weight in molecular structure
|
Out of work like JFK Jr.'s flight instructor
|
|
[Cage]
|
Went, lookin for exits, and tried to get my head fixed
|
Slept with a perforated picture of Jimi Hendrix
|
See in these days, Cage is like, 54 ways
|
to get my fuckin money, mega seedless to blaze
|
|
[Chorus: Smut Peddlers]
|
Sluts, gimmicks, ducks you finished
|
This is dedicated for those medicated minutes
|
Fuck, image, we stuck on spinach
|
In a second you'll be checkin into fuckin smut clinics!
|
Like sluts, gimmicks, ducks you finished
|
This is dedicated for those medicated minutes
|
Fuck, image, we stuck on spinach
|
In a second you'll be checkin into fuckin smut clinics!
|
|
[Cage]
|
I ran up in a wack open mic cafe on stage
|
So many biters I performed in a shark cage
|
in dark shades, during the Central Park raids
|
I walked out with a book of paper and a bag of beige
|
friends, the camera lens (is) behind the shoelace
|
Get more upskirts than women's vaginas for your face
|
|
[Eon]
|
I'm fresh out the box like new (?)
|
The chicken played with my monkey now we makin zoo porn
|
Now MC's the Anti-Christ like, Damien thorn
|
Eric the Pascal(?) land so feel the scorn
|
The old man, illest show man, my moldin
|
With logic equal to fifteen Vulcans
|
|
[Cage]
|
And I'm soakin, face lookin blank
|
Shoot this little kid up with horse tranq' and send him to the bank
|
with a 'give me the funds' note, clip's missin from the gun
|
If he gets slapped then fuck it all I'll split it with my dunns
|
(Bum bum!) I shit on crumbs, got a couple thousand sons
|
that all shoulda been wiped off some jugs or cloggin lungs
|
|
[Eon]
|
Everytime I dabble watch my life unravel
|
Did I miss an exit to the road less traveled?
|
Transmit from the depths of the deepest bassment
|
Through the pavement, up into spaceships
|
Deathstar creator, I orbit track wars
|
My appeal spans Rhodes scholars to slackjaws
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Eon]
|
Yo, a Peddler show, include a few heathens
|
From Hoth to Tatooine, you choose the season
|
Dialect for all these crews and legions
|
A walking contradiction like "Jews for Jesus"
|
|
[Cage]
|
I spit how the earth taste and pass forms out of place
|
Galvanize my face and kill for breathin space
|
Nobody to trace, open the trunk like the case
|
Light the L off of your body and sweepd you in the face
|
|
[Eon]
|
Yeah I seen old timers became semi-thugs
|
I got more dizzy spells than Reginald Denny does
|
Cranium blower, Shea Stadium goer
|
Hydro cultivator turned uranium grower
|
|
[Cage]
|
I'm the, smut chancellor, got vagina slippers for the floor
|
Show you and that slut you call wifey hardcore
|
While I burn off the lips, stacked(?) to evolve
|
(?) I'm down to shoot (?) fucks cause I cancelled their cause
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Cage]
|
In a second you'll be checkin into fuckin smut clinics!
|
In a second you'll be checkin into fuckin smut clinics!
|
|
-----------------
|
Medicated Minutes
|
| Smut Peddlers |
