P.O.S - Half Cocked Concepts

lookin like a lo-fi 'drop it like its hot.' taken from wearempls.com available on the Doomtree Blowout DVD www.doomtree.net/store First of all fuck Bush Thats all thats the end of it Second give it up to RSE for hooking up a kid I got the two best, the newest plus the truest Doomtree Rhymesayers Entertainment You know the name Breath and quality control from your boroughs to your borders Dropping hack emcees off balconies like Tony Rock Horror Truest baby-dangling word tangling How to snatch the band-aid off the back of the neck of Marsalis Wallace P.O. You know the dirty one disturbing categories The matador in black killing bullshit allegories Provide the herky-jerky beats and stirring stories make em Get up get up get up and get something done I spray terms like throw ups Im bout to spit a fill in Cause me and Turbo Nemesis are soon to be arthritic villains Still instilling hatred laced with manifesto morals And a backbeat to beat your heartbeat up people lets go Just turn it on and leave it running Nation under the gun and nothing lining our pockets We frontin like "Who want it?!?" Something so simple spoken we waiting but nothing coming Curling our fingertips sit in shit like faulty plumbing Just game for days busy bees makin that honey And skee-ball tickets still dont count as real money Its something so ridiculous funny so fuckin sick of this Consistent lack of vision from children claiming they listening Still Im sitting in stitches laughing while they all missing this Theres still songs bout bitches from nine eleven witnesses So here I am in the middle west The heartland mafucka Sippin whole milk mafucka Our nights are colder right? Minnesota nice But a frostbit fist for the smile stings twice so uh Fight or flight Who gives a damn anyway Does it make a fuckin difference in these apathetic days They tell em to lean back Just relax We tell em Get up get up get up and get something done Something so ridiculous funny so fuckin sick of this Consistent lack of vision from children claiming they listening You look sick homie, eat a gun Ima eat a gun I look tired Its probably the insomnia I sleep like Tyler Durden Sticking feathers in your ass does not make you a chicken Holler if you hit the bottom running A fool amongst the scholars bumping something bout clubs bubs and hubs I got a message in a bottle Written in gas and oil Signed with a rag and a match Here catch Slap to rebel yell The rebels fell embedded in brick Aint no fuckin Marlboro memorial for pissed off kids waiting for Death Wish 6 Like Bronson aint got enough to flip his fangs to vigilance again Wont sit and spin then fake amends Bury our friends and think about whats up with Jen and Ben We sit and spin I think weve been up in this club a little too long