[P.O.S.] Bashed up for the blast of it Dead last for the pa** I get Had the back with the calloused kids With the knack for the raddest sh** An entirely different one percent Piled on ‘tip it's all gone No, all filthy at you Off the charts Off the wall The charts nailed onto Under there where I roam (Under where?) Cuz they underdeveloped and overgrown It's over and out Without doubt and it dropped You can find me in your home Give me the food, give me the fool Make a meal of your crew Make a mess of your conquest Blessed with civility Dressed for the coup I got my mind on my tummy And I'm fine looking grind on And what exactly do you do? I got my mind on my And I'm fine looking grind on (I've got my head on Head on straight) [Busdriver] Yeah Hug-hips, a Smucker's jelly Cut wrists or what you tell me I jump cliffs for one glimpse Of your unkissed underbelly My face are records for sale My city, a Mexican jail [?] So, n***a, I am losing it I bathed in the back of a cumulus cloud Raised in the cracks of the music ain't crowd While nature with inflamed a pituitary gland Please don't get me confused with any band I'm a motherf**ing cartoon character With a macabre bend Holding two Americas Some odds and ends And want to shoot cameras Where ladies strip for a wad of tens I like you With your sly grin, you're a siren None like you You're a dream girl times ten You make light bend You've got a n***a feeling sedated Like a pain patient Your apartment's like a space station And we've got similar tastes in music You like wheezy and Jeezy and Neezy And Sleepy and Dopey And maybe I need you to please Be my little snow pea Because I'm out here stalking you Looking creepy with a sleazy goatee My love for you is a gun And we both know gods barf guns And force-feed belief Like a squad car of nuns