C - Lance - Park Bench lyrics

[Verse 1 :Madchild] Red line, razor blade gang, I'm an outlaw Crack jaw, you won't see it coming hit you south paw Torch the village cause they're really very hokey k**in' all the villagers and spit like karaoke Used to treat me like a trophy Then things got low key, I was dopey Now nobody even know me And just because I'm doing good again don't mean you know me Trust me, I am not the old me And I cannot remember one thing that you told me Relationship is stale, it is moldy I'm fresh now a cla**ic, like great golden oldies Not a Mack like Goldie Never wack, I attack so boldly sh** is crazy, life is like a blur I could be a psycho but it's not what I prefer New king, cinderella no gla** slipper No black leather act for the wack stripper Madchild lyrically I'm an a** kicker Not a a** kisser, I'm a practicer That's where a lot differ and I'm a lot different Without a pot to piss in but I am not tripping Cause see the clock and the clock's ticking Badman, I'm a rude boy, shot lickin' I mean no, I made no deal with them bowcat Had to leave awhile and stop doing opiates Stomp on a white boy, smash on a halfbreed I don't give a f** when I rap, I am baffling [Verse 2 :Madchild] Yo dogs are good, most people s** I'll probably grow up to be an old evil f** Sitting on a park bench, cane and a cardigan Thinkin' of the days back when Shane he was partyin' And soon I'll be an artifact Seemed like yesterday I was picking up a party pack (ha) Now I'm worried about a heart-attack Still child-like, AMAX and a starter cap You can't cheat father time Just be thankful I'm happy, I've had harder times Things that I like, they are mad hard to find I'm a snob, do my job, I'm a master of rhymes I'm a ba*tard to some, to the rest sh** is good Main fear? Not to do the best that I could Not give it all I got, but still could do better Decade and a half, group still we're together Still birds of a feather Still dope beats, ill words put together Hip-hop saved me twice, that's a true fact I still love checkin' for f**ing tough records Used to have a pistol in my hand Now I want blue skies, seeing crystal in the sand I'm getting old, call me mister I'm the man Still cold, still official as the plan motherf**er