Bozooko

Verse 1:

Wow, PCP Grand Prix, acid motocross
Tainted trees to ode her off
We playin' soccer in the landfill, kickin' trash
Kitchen champ, by the chicken, lick the stamp
Bottle of feces, the shit's a jam (Hahahaha)
Two pieces up sellin' crack in a Nixon mask
At the Fair blazin', hell casings
Nod out the air aimin', dust grass like caretakin'
Goosebumps on a bare painting
With the fixture on the groupie was hair raisin' (Wow)
Mouth full of gels on my comic
Whippin' tonics, perv clip chicks like senator content
The natural like Redford, the shit's too raw
Listen all, blow smoke out then hit record
That's no formula, everything's been done
Go form a club, worship blunt, absorbin' spores and such
Lesson 3, dead body next to me
If Jesus take the wheel he'll be an accessory

Verse 2:

Abba-lot-tabba-riggy
Yabba-dabba-doo
Abba Zabba, you my only friend too
Fuck work, stuck with the field like Cleets (Haha)
Outside the studio holdin' blue flowers like Keith
I'm active, stiffs from local crips missin'
Six sixes, creepin' like a fiend on a gimp mission (Huh?)
I'm like the Siamese think with two heads at the hit mix in
Smokin' Ketacid dips fishin'
American flag of ether
I feel like on the set of Two-On Food Away, I'm shootin' at these weird divas (Ew)

Outro:

They organize, each of us gets his own tough, that way you can cool all those strange freelance bitches, and when the heat comes down, all you do is cool it for a while, meanwhile the business is still goin' on elsewhere dead which takes care of you, the Johns don't panic, and we don't jam up on each other