The Psycho

Don’t even blink or you’ll miss the dash to the flash Of monster cash, a history of talkin’ trash The secret stash, of verbalists a good tongue lash Try to run with my crew, you’ll break out in a rash Dot slash to the com the computer ward Fourth down, well I just ran a hundred yards My cards, royal flush, fifty chips on the table Got a little crush get a girl like Clark Gable Talk, I’ll say hush, I’ll give you a push Cuz everybody and they mama wants a Zeus Zeus mush Get promoted by the Watson, Bark like a Dachshund Hell if I told you to you’d turn all your socks in Zeus the everlasting, rhyming soldier Ability to rhyme all night like Folgers Told ya, I’m comin’ wit’ the thunder and boom Stealing wedding rings even though I ain’t the groom Impending doom from Olympus’ peak It’s a deadly game of hide and go seek I’m living I’m living to give glory to the meek Hook:  It’s the Psycho comin’ through on a train Through the fog, snow, hail, sleet, wind, and rain It’s the Psycho and we’re gonna bring you some pain Jumpin’ out right through this river gonna bowl through this lane It’s the Psycho you could call me insane Lyrically crazy I wonder who’s to blame Lyrically crazy I wonder who’s to blame Well excuse me while I do my Zeus Dawg thing Up in Brentwood where the ladies and my shotgun sing Tunes of your destruction better not abuse The psychopath with heavy artillery and a short fuse I could go at any time, snap at any second And you know that’s when I’ll start, makin’ with mah wreckin’ With my crew ain’t no jobbers in this All Star Clique We the foundation of stardom, brick by brick I gets tired of the haters non-pervasive Trash talkers and they seem more like evasive I’m on fire there ain’t nothin’ interruptin’ my flow And when I show makin’ my dough, where you gonna go? My cash flow’ll confuse everything you do It’s like, two for me, and none for you And when I’m done trust me you won’t have a clue To what’s, true or false, or old or new Hook I know it’s hard to battle when you know I’m immortal I’ll wrap you up throw you in the wrong portal Type up and S.O.S. in your Walkie Talkie Come out the other end out in Milwaukee Hit you with a hockey stick hooked with knives You better wish you were a cat with nine lives Or free drives escapin’ from the Great One’s clutches Better watch out or you might find yourself in crutchesWhat I call a "brag rap" -- no point... just fun bragging Written April 9th, 2002 © on Apr 09 2002 02:51 AM PST   20 • 0 • 10