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letra de disarray - otitis

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[verse – ot-tis & b. magic)

i’m like how do i begin? i use the pen as the medicine
son of sin, been inside the devil’s den
yet i see thru heaven’s lens, stricken with the pestilence
so sick he revel in, foe’s spit, and welcome them

bring it on, i got nothin’ to lose
all the cut and contusion, that ain’t nothin’ but bruise
i let ’em suffer and lose, i gives a f-ck so i move on
and sever all the lesser, till the end of these dudes, gone

back to bu’iness, i’m not, lax up in this
building speed and some endurance, i’m on tracks for fitness
running left & right, b-tton pressing type, im’ma test your might
checking on the lesson, you guessed it; you’re getting blessed tonight

so take a bow if you made it while everyone witness
see, i’ve been proud of the angels who dodged the dumb pitches
and caught the powerful figures in our business
a mad man without the cigarettes and the dumb b-tches

my one wish is finding a way to get in
these other motherf-ckers fit in; believe i didn’t
i’m stranger than the label knows until they catch the way he flows
and sh-t he says to skip the rest and make these fakers pay their tolls

pave a road, leadin’ to the lesion of they brain and soul
hate on o, magic’ll back him up till the train erode, and wheels fall off
never ever could the zeal be lost
i got his back till our hearing’s lost, cuz the

seal embossed, the real and raw, we meant it (when they)
cheerin’ on, the feeling’s naught to perish (give ’em)
chills and all, the ceiling’s all that held us (and this)
feeling’s all we ever wanted (jealous?)

i guess yes; the frowns are all around when we’re less stressed
the music’s an emotional chest press
i brace it and launch it, they get astonished when the message suggest next
a m-s-ch-st in d-ckies haute couture as the best-dressed

confess, yes – give me your burden, i’ll convert it to intel
i’ll solve your little problem and convince you you meant well
i’ve fixed the fools that run off to the breezy day
and leave the hard truth so i can synthesize an easy way

karma seems to say that apathy is what they need in me
and even though the thought is killing me, i guess it seems to be
the prop to play, but not to say i’m left to meet defeat, you see
i’ll operate the proxy way and let you be the scenery!

(hmph) now go and find that on your internets
you dabble in them sinner bets, and death is what the winner gets
murder ain’t a thing when it’s justified by finger frets
i’ll leave you with some game that’ll satisfy them dinner debts

a killer’s threats, aimed at these haters, labels, and b-tches
i channel anger and rip it, no shame in handlin’ bidness
so drown ’em all with the fishes, and freeze ’em over in ice
with cement-toe hitches to slowly finish they lives

i’m sick of fake -ss males, i’m sick of women folk
so when i flake or bail, it’s cuz you b-tches hoes
and you could say that you ain’t, but face it, the truth is blatant
everybody talkin’ from -n-s, the mouth got sh-t to say with

paint a picture of a scripture wit a hero missin’
opposite of hedonism, down with what the de’evil wish ’em
soundin’ like they need a vision
only i got’s murder, so an urn’s what my thoughts’ll earn ya

mothaf-cka – and that ain’t ‘nothin’ but the roots of it
(the honesty and truth of the mattter) proof’s in the bladder
(i’m p-ssed off) – i use what they have to lose in a manner
(if it’s death or deconstruction) i guess i’m choosing the latter-

the madder that they get, and the greater the re(ward)
the vein of hater meets (sword)
engrain the name with the (gore)
pour out a bit’a (ipecac) to make these f-ckers (sick)
until they vomit all the nonsense that they thought, and let ’em (spit it back)

- otitis

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