The Garden

Welcome to the garden the HQ of Jim Laden
Where weed trees grow around the things I leave departed
Got AKs in black bags you think we're full of garbage
Guess again the weapons I've obtained are like Osama's
Who, by the way, is still alive, and says to say hello
And told me to tell you that hes just laying low
Then disclose that he was paid to take the blame
For what happened to the towers, so America could take control
I make the fans mosh, but this ain't rock and roll
Just a snippet of the craziness of the life I know
Inside the grimy flow, blow your mind to Idaho
And fly back to return to its rightful home
Im like a war lord of lyrics I've got much more than spirit
Im trying to conjure a spell and take control
Of every single area code across the globe
For every fairy tale told I tell it straight and bold
I'm something like the common cold
No ones find a cure for me, so I just hang around until its time to go
And come back when I decide to
And play personas for viruses, like bird flu and swine flu
Or whatever's in line next that's been designed to
Kill it slowly within life's huge human zoo
Its J. Ladan with a 'chete in alley way
Dont ask me who I am, who the fuck are you, Buckaroo?
All my bars and rhymes move in synchracy
Think of me like mother Mary boy you can't get into me
But I ain't virginal I'm dangerous to pussy holes
Who think that I won't step to them instinctively and sink my teeth
In their damn necks, take a rain check
Instead of blazing you I probably rather blaze the blessed
But I'll be spraying to the day and date the game starts making sense
Won't stop until I'm dead
Thats what I call going to grave extents
Bring me back to life in fifty thousand years
And I reign on whoever rapping nice
Then kick back with a diet coke jack and ice
See words for me swells within the devils eyes
A never ending well of lust probably made me jealous, I
Throw my hands up, I admit
But I run up my lips a bit because I felt like I'm handcuffed
But now I've broke free, Im never leaving bankrupt
Rappers think they're dead stiff like rigor mortis is
Just know I go hard, like pornstar performances
Norman of Normandy, I'll force you out your fortresses
Until you're hiding like your moonlighting as a contortionist
I see men collecting metals, I think we need to pause a bit
Cause I ain't hating for the day that I start making soft songs son
I'll probably win an award for it
And for a spitter like myself that's what the bullshit is
Anyways, I never stray away from real
All I can do, I guess, is demonstrate the way I feel
The way I speak, the way I move, the way I breathe, the way I'm ill
So real life got me chasing that 2 stone still
I lost when diabetes handed me my tombstone I'm fucking ill
Listen, I worked hard to get signed, but thats irrelevant
The point I'm tryna make's I never had a lucky deal
So all you inbreds can climb my money hill
Cause D.E.V. is on the hunt for money still
And then my hands ain't on the curb they're on the till
I'm OT, you know me
Running through the whole scene, screaming Dagenham is ill
With young whippers snappers grabbing on the steel
What the fuck is with this manner chat will get you killed
Crack and smack is everywhere, just like the weed and pills
My backyard is too rough for Titchmarsh

Fuck all the little pricks who keep saying my name
You'll never be as ill
I've done everything you've done ten times over
We got everyone doing good things for the UK
Nothing but love all day
Lets make it happen
OT our time, Devlin, A Moving Picture