Soot

(Quit the bullshit, it's a stick up)

Yo, socrates knew, knew it

Wallabee smooth, bear skin
Never ever gonna wear thin (no)
Egg whites, mixed with the gin (gin)
Angostura bitters for the win (win)

Citrus twist for the aromatics
And I'm gonna take another breath like it was only but a
Matter of the habit whether that would be the last one
Come again and straining to remember what it felt like

Way back in the day when we were ripping it up, mad young
Nowadays the focus is another bag of fish
But at the same timе never evеr coming illegitimate
We stay up in the thick of it with figurative images
We're sprinkling this shit with cinnamon

Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) pull these bangers from the wine rack
Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) prismatic colors from the wine rack

No damn peaking up in the window
Might just be seeing a legend allegedly puffin' the indo'
Stuffing a bird with a chin-do, bitches name was bingo
Just for info, nympho' gringo twist yo' limbs slow 'til yo' pretzel legs go let go
They don't wanna dig it like a tunnel for the metro, fuck that

Two to the floor, plus two makes four, Big Shaq
Boot to the jaw, kick back
Enjoy the shit, sip yak
Embroider this, stitch cramp

Hoist a fist if you're tired of the mediocre noisiness
See me spill the beans clean in the groin with this
I be the guillotine fiend with a giant list
And when I scribble it a little bit of ink begins to dribble
From the rim in to the middle of the page

The piddle from the squid'll get all brittle
Like a fiddle in some drizzle
And the shit'll be impossible to gauge
Who to leave alive and who to kill up in the cypher
When the microphone is mine to put vaginas in a cage

When I'm finally invited to the palace to be knighted
They're entirely delighted how I'm nice-ing up the stage, bust it
People always wanna know the secret of the writing
If I try to put it plain there'd be a line to the asylum for insane
And discombobulated brains, got the diagnostic claim

Saying vital chronic pain, slain by rhyme-aholic
Clearly on another level, I'm the final boss, bitch
Put the pedal to the metal give you spinal off-rip
I'm the devil with a shovel for your tiny coccyx
Call me peddler of death, pick a shiny coffin

(Quit the bullshit, it's a stick up)
Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) pull these bangers from the wine rack
Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) prismatic colors from the wine rack

So be it, all a matter of where you're looking at it from
Past is a hum drum
Son of a stun gun 300 WinMag
Kept the weedy in my gym bag

Kimchi and Bim Bim bap
Taking this track back 'til the rim snap
Spitting this shit it's a natural act
And in fact it is evident that the Mind's back

(Quit the bullshit, it's a stick up)
No hiccups, unless it's from expensive liquor
(Quit the bullshit, it's a stick up)
Usual culprits cruising in a rusty pick up
(Quit the bullshit, it's a stick up)
Move quicker, blue lights begin to flicker

Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back, prismatic colors from the wine rack
Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) pull these bangers from the wine rack

Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) prismatic colors from the wine rack
Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) pull these bottles from the wine rack

Jet black, tell your moms that the mind is back
Step back (back up, back up) prismatic colors
(It's a stick up)