letra de bloody xmas - payday monsanto
yo, joe i don’t know what the f-ck is goin’ on, man m-th-f-ckas…
savage…
k!llin’ cops…
hunh?
makin’ it hard for n-ggas…
walk around with the burner…
it’s cold outside, you need it like a jacket…
i feel…(hiccups)
yo, that’s exactly what i been sayin’…
cops is hawkin…
it’s gonna be a bl–dy xmas out, maybe…
you know what?
i don’t know, i don’t know…
very well might be, dawg…
sad…
(laughs)
i really can’t call it, man…
i got styles that make you wanna go & call the cops, i don’t care about the cl!cks, or the pops, i make scared of d-cks, more than glocks. you get trauma-based psy-op mind-control, spray your third-eye with black paint, blind your soul, throw devils in ditches, leave ’em confined to holes. i don’t like to say things, but i will harvest your organs to doctors in beijing, aristocrats confuse the masses, and pay kings, my name’s among thе bells that they ring. ding-dong, ding-dong, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. that’s what they say whеn it’s time to pay, bank-runs & martian-calls make their hair turn grey, early. then they try to play it off like mr. furley. gamblin’ on ass, whistlin’ past the graveyard, it’s hard to come to grips with the fact you a slave, god. when you made such an emotional investment, and played hard. well, guess what? i’m not like them, i’ve obtained a gem, and i’m tryin’ to keep it. every jewel they get, they squander, then they wonder, while they wander, around back ‘yonder. you can see me, when you shoot your tv, with a blue desert e., let the truth set you free, 92, 23, it don’t matter to me, you don’t know alan watt, you don’t know how it be…
“i mean, i love a cute anthem, even though we know where it’s going. because we’re addicted it the system, ourselves…the toys, the gadgets, the gimmickry.” – alan watt
don’t it feel nice to have a brand-new jaguar, and drive around town like the consummate f-g-star, with the feminine hair-do’s, and lemon & pear shoes? me, and simon & schuster, match like punky brewster. this the world you born in? this the world you used to? simple, funky, shoot ‘ya, take away your future? see a judge for homicide ’cause you removed a precious tax-payer, now how much can you recoup us? children born today, are well on their way of beggin’ their parents, for the latest brain-chip, they can call it a name, but it’s all the same sh-t, ain’t nothin’ virtual, you leave this earth with what you came with…
yea, yeah…
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