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Cage - (Down) The Left Hand Path lyrics
* send corrections to the typist I was mislead, but once I found the way I convinced a group of 19 that they should drown today How I flipped it, clipped it after madness Then the dead came back and haunted the wrong address Cause they some stupid dead motherfuckers Just like all you bitches, all Weathermen fluffers And I get my shoes polished By the best open mic emcees paying Timbaland's homage In this day and age If your deck ain't playing Cage You probably disgruntled your Mrs. Funnel mayonnaise Or I ain't get the right palm My whole career been a upstream kayak through blood My tools love, seeing the face of opponents Seconds before they scull and wig savor the moment Light up a Jay, cast silence over Bob And hair stuck on the ground, shit I might as well rob the dead [Chorus] Hear this to the DJ then track the clubs Lift the cover of my CD then see what acid does Don't just stand there looking like some average thugs If there's a chick standing next to you then grab her jugs And if you ain't grabbin' the dough when they ass below Then you come back to the crib wearin' a mask and gloves Then you go back to the club stinkin' of ass and blood Joke some kid up diggin' pockets and snatch the drugs I a backwards education Studied some chick with broken navigation All this anti-Cage demonstratin' I don't pray to Satan I pray on agents makin' Shapeable minds Capable of firing traceable 9's But not at any kegs that make they snout's see I don't know what I wrote till' I spit and my mouth bleeds Look, more patterns to market Not even naming I'm standin' a walkin' target with shoppers that look at me awkward Granted I got a canon and my freakin' mouth's leakin' Cause my crew put more dust in the air than house keeping If you sleeping you're getting woke the fuck up Like you're parents while you bought this and smoke the fuck up With some much rhymin' in the NYC I carry 9 millimeter in the back of Taxi While I thought music prevented GOB servants And a cycle of brain wash entertainments to detergent [Chorus] If my thought patterns Brought palans to Walt Adams And spit violence and death, then kids start gaddin' Bloody ear canal Hold it down with a towel Cause by the time the verse hatch your stomach's hangin' out We got a verse on the loose, let's get these mouth zippers Buy six drinks a night then wake up and wear 'em as house slippers I'm just fuckin' with you bitch, don't get offended This ain't your average anti-pop record with a happy ending Go ask your block School body and bastard pops How the fuck you get your hands on acid drops Music television repellent for kids with extreme views Start torchin' labs to light the team's fuse I've gotten plottin', rotten ? been chewing I keep my hands in it with no tangible influence Whether a Clockwork Orange or a murderous night A book of what my pops did to Tony Burgess's wife [Chorus] |
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