Boxguts - Gla** lyrics

(Destiny waits in the hand of God, shaping the still unshapen: I have seen these things in a shaft of sunlight.) [an excerpt from T.S. Elliot's "Murder in the Cathedral"] [Boxguts] b**h stay cool, if you're truly humble be more silent and not such a boaster It's only natural I got giant beef for the chocha And I don't need to keep iron, teeth firing hotter heat than your toaster Yeah my studio's kind of nice but don't mention the sofa Freak Power Records got the best lines and jokes brah All we're really trying to get is a little attention from the likes of Oprah Then the team can all go live on the show buzzed as f** rolling up and smoke with her Fried, nah I'm a little more focused than most of ya High under the radar blowing my skunk, like how did they not notice him Defiant little punk with the funk, getting dope sickly all my stuff Raw like Guts, dirt poor lighting up Cause I'm more hype to bust when the soul's right and buzzed, yup (An eternal patience to which all must consent that it may be willed and which all must suffer that they may will it.) [more from T.S. Elliot's "Murder in the Cathedral"] [Jak Tripper] Aiyo put that dough on the table I don't rep a set, my goons cult like Waco Both of the 8.0's will blow the sour cream out his potato Whether it's street corners or stages, the pump gauges will swallow his face whole Bars are fatal, I'm Micah, mentally disabled If your girls underage and pregnant I'm robbing that cradle I'll take his head off just to get at his cables We cooking Fire (eww) so that sh** you smelling ain't basil You want bars? Come watch this kid get barred to d**h Pipes part his head, medics come with carts picking out chards of lead Trying to okay parts of his arms and legs Clean hit, wrap him up in that carpet bed Char his chest, I'm like an ice sculptor the way I carve his flesh I'll k** him here, and send cards to friends Me and people not cool, so we aren't then Spaced out, me and Martha friends I write like my arm possessed