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letra de dead air - the wrist (rapper)

[verse one]:
a f-ckin’ flying can of spam hit ya
d-ck twisted in transistors
tighter than your pants your wide b-tch tried to cram into
get slammed into
earth, cause fault lines and cross minds
you got the right day but the wrong time, the gong chimes
close your hole you’re fed your lunch in
i’m taking out your tape teddy ruxpin
now nod your head to nothin’
f-ck a proper introduction
start followin’ instructions
you’re bothering the knuckleheads, my followin’ is rugged
aww sh-t
look who’s about to walk this way
that f-ckin’ kid no not today
who forgot to lock his cage?
who let the wrist out?
he’s going to flip out
he’s got a big mouth
he offends crowds, his type of sh-t i could live without
actin’ crazed in car lots, spittin’ razors and off top
amazin’ when bars stop
cure aids with a cough drop
makin’ your jaw drop
fix your face with a strong lock
dead bolt it, then ? with your own watch

[chorus]:
make ’em say “eff yeah”
my head just has to get clear
blow a hole in the radio and blast the dead air
i need more quiet before i tear out my chest hair
the end’s near
so k!ll the noise until i get there
“k!ll that noise” – mc shan ‘k!ll that noise’

[verse two]:
obnoxious whoppin’ this
serve ya like a pasta dish
on some mobster sh-t
the response is monstrous
you c-ckless novices is still choppin’ up nautilus
my subconscious is topless chicks and nauseousness like a drama fl!ck
politics is bombin’ the congress with
the marker in pocket quick
put a pause in your accomplishments like how a comma splits
conquer your confidence
cause your cottage to be total ? like a ? after a comet hits
you’re booted, now put a sock in it
i rock it like gettin’ stomped in a mosh pit on the day of godlessness
your conglomerate is not legit, it’s obvious
chicks in sloppy t-ts is a rotten gift like socks and sh-t
chuck a vodka fifth to the esophagus
and puff a rasta spliff until we watchin’ the third rock with binoculars
f-ckin’ up economies, accomplices is communists
you common as condiments
i’m nice, like the cosby kids
it gets bummy, like it’s rats where my closet is
i don’t shop at the gap cause i ain’t rich like common is
it’s a cold world, frigid thermometers
lose faith like a priest fingering toddlers and dissing his promises
you copped a brick, you choppin’ it and clockin’ it, that’s awesome b-tch
but you ain’t droppin’ sh-t like your squad’s incontinent
plus the day your poppa’s condom ripped
when i stop it, i’ll be posturing, holdin’ my c-ck like i got shot in it

- the wrist rapper

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