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letra de chillin' in the columns - the mad conductor

i’m a 700th generation, gunpowder fed, fully venom bred, kamakura shogunate
ninja dragon sword, razor’s edge
silent in my quadrant watching martin
without a tv set in my apartment and the cable’s dead
my evil idiom’ll beat your equilibrium
and leave you off balance like your boy without his lithium
and no, not just a sliver
kid, i never shiver when i’m sittin’ by the river
i got the member’s only black bomber with the zipper zipped
then i’m stompin’ off quick, rhythm is symarip
hip to lip a flimmerick
shut your power off and snip your candle wick
ayo, remember when they used to burn women on a stick?
’cause they thought god was tee’d off
so they tarred ’em up
like lenny d battin’ lead off
spittin’ chaw at y’all
spinnin’ marley marl
i’m oxen free as ollie y’all
and ollie
i’ll spike the volleyball
while rockin’ leather, shredder metal wrist guards
as i approach from the east
flyin’ coach ’cause it’s cheap
off the coast of han’s isle
twenty deep, minus nineteen
lime green venom in the stream
i befriended two women in the cell, supposed weather makers
accused of brewing storms that ruined several hundred acres
through enchantment of a spell
my only confidants in this mad captivity
where it seems a right mind lacks symmetry
given he can only see one half of the vicinity
then, with shackles on our forearms
guards forced us to the court yard
where my friends were tied fast to a stake
in the center of a bed of dry grass
ever since then i always unplug the jack in the month of the drac
my food is not of man
i destroy both the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite
your bones fracture when the trap is tight
i’m rippin’ through ya’ like rotten lettuce
the hovel menace with the neck bolt fetish

lady bug, lady bug fly away home
your house is on fire

and your kids are all alone!
and the lids about to blow off of the kettle
my stomp could pluck a mountain bike pedal
though i never take it down to trite levels
in the loft amongst piles of hay
i break jars of clay
with my gamma ray vision from a mile away
don’t even swing when i slay my opponent with a sickle
i advanced on a passed third strike
then came a triple
they caught me in a pickle
so i ducked down and vortexed the catcher
like a plumber with a whistle
there goes your perfect game, your no-hitter and your shut-out
i’m goin’ nuts like a somalian pirate
with his alpha kappa – two score and seven
seek the dug out, ’cause i’m about to bug out
no reason for the action, sometimes for mere satisfaction
never kept the mind fed with mad maggots in the swine’s head
and simon says nothin’ ’cause the rocks still crushin’
not like a redneck cop and his second cousin
with the powerful percussion of a hundred bores a’comin’
gainin’ faster than a witch without a parka when it’s rainin’
man, you’d better scatter, before the pack scr-ps your data
tyrannosaurus rex treks your matter
black cats and ladders for fools strappin’ sally bats
rockin’ rally caps, checkin’ rand-mcnally maps for the token
i swing a wooden louisville in poland till your swollen
your neck is out of tune and strummin’ open chords
i turn back lips into broken boards
i fell through the rafters and landed on a picket fence
in bellevue, nebraska

- the mad conductor

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