*Track 2: Bulls on Parade. BAM. Starts jumping and bobbing that effin' head*
Come wit it now!
Come wit it now!
The microphone explodes, shattering the molds
Either drop tha hits like de la O or get tha fuck off tha commode
Wit tha sure shot, sure ta make tha bodies drop
Drop an don't copy yo, don't call this a co-op
Terror rains drenchin', quenchin' tha thirst of tha power dons
That five sided fist-a-gon
Tha rotten sore on tha face of mother earth gets bigger
Tha triggers cold empty ya purse
Rally round tha family! With a pocket full of shells
They rally round tha family! With a pocket full of shells
They rally round tha family! With a pocket full of shells
They rally round tha family! With a pocket full of shells
5 hours and 20 minutes before the Boston-Montreal Game 7 begins. Crank that shit up. BULLS ON PARADE. I'm telling you, if you really want to see me dance and/or sing while i'm kind of drunk or just drinking, all you have to do is put some Rage Against the Machine. It always does the trick. Fuck, I am pumped for tonight. Damn, I wish I had brought my Ipod.
No comments:
Post a Comment