Originally Posted by
El Producto
Got a strain un-contained that could turn parade zombie, walk with an army on me, stalked by the harm and armor posse, prolly got me on a radar with a dot, these watching, plotting minions of the lower god scene. Shit hawks abound, in the town of bullet dodging I'm a Rocky, run a hundred a mile before my coffee. Shitty little sick kid, the Gipper's hitting for dolo now. I'm rarified, signal lit, verified bossy. Fuck your droid noise, void boys' 'noid ploy, oi oi, I'll rugby kick the shit out your groin, boy! Oy vey, the slayers of your harmony porn life throat-fuck your lucky day, the flight of a torn kite.
Holy smokes! City blown to the bone, the death server, fit a Hertz with a burner, whip to the church of murder sermon, just a Cassandra too drained to painfully word it further. Future of a gerbil: up ass of masochist. That's my word up, so you should
pump this shit like they do in the future
pump this shit, in your floating whip system
pump this shit, in the bread line, the prison,
pump this shit, from the chip under your wrist skin (you are so fucking paranoid),
I am sam, I am known to go H.A.M., the full retard playing taps on a keytar, in the Benz or the Beamer. Either, etherlicious or rebel-yelling the theme of Son of Forgotten Freedom, rebel "ariba-riba!" Metal and man have melted, settle in to the FEMA, dream a, your polluted house speaker, leader yes indeed a, dawn of the dirt and doom draws nearer. Here's a mirror, mirror to peer, fear grows clearer, steer a path away from the panic of our era. Pyramided, ocular, unlided insignia-weirder: here's another burner born and big in ya sector, rectified and fly sound selector. I'm a fucking ill, trill, kill at will etc.,
Brooklyn to the basic, DNA math measurer, better leave the lion alone, do not pet him, he'll fuck-start your burp hole, jet in burgundy pleather. Woah! So you should
pump this shit like they do in the future
...where harmony and love reign, no longer do we live in a society bent on its own destruction. Children of every race, creed and religion frollick through fields of golden dandelions (li'l bitch)... that's some Camus shit!
Those who know lust, trust the flow is disgust, touch Producto back, rap rush, you'll notice the lad crush. I'm potent, intact, a black hearted and lunged up, 'tarded and touched, plus, designer of funk rust. Oh, El is back on that shit, huh? That Paincave Kid talk at the end of the painbow, the permanant stain bop, maligning my name will holy ark up your squad's face, viewers of the divine rage learn to worship the hard way, you get it? I don't fade, just float where the poem slays, at home with a roach hazed, alone or with hoes great, I called but got a tone. Better boat out the borough post-haste