Cage - Escape To '88 lyrics

[Scratches] [Verse 1] Welcome to a piece of brain tissue, my brain's lungs Filled with octane like liquid it came from Some silly, said her tits sellin illy Really? By the jar? Pump the car full of grey jelly Called her Ronda, after I sh** on the dash Cause I can't stand hooked up on dust The three manuveur so swiftly in and out of looters Through checkpoints with juice in stashed coolers 2002, my album's played through ID on the window like it's f**ing Beirut Too bad no planes flew into MTV I'll never get a platinum plaque for MP3 Being blackballed by a white MC - Pause I guess that f*ggot found the right MD And I'm twisted but not like f*ggots that s** fame This clown is saying I'm sicker with metal than mudvayne I train my following like a b**h modelin H is like a God and it won't stop hollerin f** needing a TV to be a rockstar Punch a hole through Mark Wahlbergs chest and dent a copcar Put my brain in it, I wouldn't last a minute Scribble some sh** in 30, I'm love like gimmicks s*uts, cynics, ducks with dipped spinnage f**in you up in the front row's good for image [Scratches] [Verse 2] I gotta walk on, half feet in Harlem for a gorilla That lost his family and want revenge on his k**er Clapped the poacher, fled the stomach of rap through and ulcer Covered in blood, eating with vultures Off the chain and got a hook in his backskull to my feet Breastfeeding, moms was cooking up crack Drop me in a pot, cop in the spot, pistols gleaming in the sun Look son - I'm fistal fiendin Nine to script with leading any malicious beatings Specially if feeled if the couples b**h is breedin Six is reading, bitterly gritty Caught a GTA charge before Liberty City Too bad no brains blew out no heads plenty I'll prolly die after I Blow like Ted Demme There's no conspiracy, your b**h is a forced fit In the telly yelling "Behold the pale horse dick" f** the Taliban, I'm back to Ballys, and Keep your little f*ggot brother off her Sally, man I can explain this "do not cross this line" in my brain Feds in the crib, but they're not finding the cane Cause time in the game, New York is trife My boy T on the lamb like a fork and knife The corporate life, too fond of the blonde talker So I grew a beard and switched sides like John Walker