Old No.7
(Verse 1)
Hey yo
I illustrate the acetate
Envisioning the animé
Sipping on the Alizé
Pissing in the alleyway
Listen to my cabaret
Monday wishing it was Saturday
Latter-day Saint
Make your dinner date salivate
'Cause I'm sweeter than carrot cake
Two thumbs up
Like the Fonz does on Happy Days
Drop a pineapple-shaped hand grenade
The flavour's all natural
Like homemade lemonade
Let me demonstrate
How I'm popping off in your house
Like a SodaStream
Just so you notice me
Prototype poetry
Flowing-type vocally
Overnight brainchild
Growing in the ovary
Spitting so chemical
Mr Incredible
The essence of creation
Contained in my testicle
So egotistical
You don't want to get technical
I'll turn you to a very sad spectacle
Huh? You're a tad skeptical?
Don't make me pull out the pen and pad sketch for you
Draw the tarot card, blud
It spells death for you
Draw the curtains on your life
It spells death for you
(Chorus x2)
I'm trying to draw that phone number sippin' on Old Number 7
So can I get a sign from the heavens?
(Verse 2)
I'm the communist plot
Police want to stop me on a Stockwell tube
With eight shots from a Glock
Rock solid crops for the chicken head flock
Spitting red-hot
Ripping out the dead rot
Got the game in a state of deadlock
And once you put the name to the face
It's bound to make your head nod
And make your toes tap
Fingers snap back
Call and response
Yeah, I'm bringing that back
I've got a bin bag of baggage
Sick in the cabbage
Vicar in the parish that'll split up your marriage
Slicker than your average
Sipping on the Kestrel
Peppercorn crushing with the mortar and pestle
There's more to the war-torn vessel than the battle scars
Or the camouflage that I wore on the special occasion
It's more vodka and kahlua
And cream for the caucasian
Peep the rate of inflation
With skunk inhalation
Biters catching two-face with gum inflammation
Mask and a gun inclination
Put I stay mellow
Puff an L
And get drunk in the basement
Fist of a derelict
Punching the pavement
(Chorus x4)
I'm trying to draw that phone number sippin' on Old Number 7
So can I get a sign from the heavens
(Verse 3)
I stay charged off the caffeine
Professional on tracks like a world-class athlete
Kids in the back seat
Yelling "Are we there yet?!"
You're already there
Bet you think like a sperm
Still swimming for the egg
Never too proud to beg
I admit it like Q-Tip
"Can I get permission to kick it?"
If she says 'Yes' that's fresh
If she don't, it don't really matter
Move onto the next!
These kids will be quick to forget
I'll scratch up your cd
Fucking with my tape cassette
No burning
Just dubbing
Blow the whistle
I'm just bugging
You better quit mean-mugging
Since the age of a baker's dozen
I've been up on the stage
Hear the rage, cold-crushing the percussion
And you don't want to go home with concussion
Jump in the firefox
Try and think Russian
Caught red handed but I admit nothing