Jam Baxter - Grenadier lyrics

Yes yes Jam's (Chorus) Oi the mighty tidal wave of saliva minus spray gets higher by the day So why try to stay on the right side of sane than my blinding rage (Jam Baxter) So when I fire my grenade i'm pullin a pin and flinging it You can't swing a miss and then prickle And the winner is? Baxter lizard skin lyricist Slivering a pit of your rinky dink limericks Chippin at the chrysalids Born with a pen and pad Swimmin in the river stick Snorkel to hell and back Now I walk with a sword and a treasure map Drawn to the desert like a who*e to the smell of crack Pourin with sweat and that dark red blood I bleed Half dead spittin till my last breath struggles free And now I laugh at your far fetched f**ing dreams Since a grubby teen on a park bench bunnin green I spat gutter steeze nothing but truth Nothing that crews can touch I got nothing to prove Gushing the news in roughness and guzzling booze f** it just loop some drums and i'll jump in the booth like It's like it's like, yo Man i'm used to my mood swinging And I move with a few screws loose and a few missing Still running from my life with my shoes slippin Still buzzin like the flies in my soup spinnin Who's winnin You him or myself Time tells Minute hand tickin as the bigger mans mind swells On my sizable mind's were the rhymes dwell Sat in straight jackets in their safe padded white cells That why my rhymes smell of blood stained mad men Escaping my fat wet brain spittin that phlegm Jacob My damn head stages the crack den When thoughts get mashed out their faces and transcend Space time insanity Rave mic's fanatically I'm raising my cane My brain writes mechanically Take flights and rap till my brain rives in agony Just another day in the strange life of Jamothy (Chorus) x 1 I sit in a large darkened room in a last chance saloon On a graveyard littered with half mastered toons With star charse'd rooms My palms spark the roots To the roots of a starvin art Pa**in zoots With a large cast a goons A bag of sharp bars Like we store smashed bottles in the back of our hearts When the avalanche starts The avatars dance As I rap to your tattered flags hanga half mars I lack the hard graft of this rappin lark style With a fat ma** of cattle on this abattoir march Man this planet can't last like d** in the waist cotch Take off drunk in my rusty escape pod CP Cut from the same cloth Wain from the same ounce Stung by the same wasp Facin the grey cloud Trust I'ma stay hot One foot skank on the sun till the rain stops Yeah Till the rain stops Till the rain stops Waste not one not you want what you ain't got Waste not one not you want what you ain't got What? Nothing