Universe
02-25-06, 10:37 AM
......
Should I confess? Blood in the panties might suggest
I end sentences, while vets uppin’ their aunty like incest
Too inept to defeat me, a million to one bet at best
So take the high road, you’ll seem brilliant in retrospect
Killing it from the get go, my d!ck ain’t a quick trigger
Fukk a bytch figure; force feed ‘em to make their tits bigger
See this wide a cock has got these tricks whining often
Tap in that ass, turned on… then she sh!ts like a faucet
If dying is promised, once again death might have a trend
Drop a ton of knowledge, that tunnel have a light at the end
Despite what I send, if I don’t touch this crowd I’m reachin’
Then **** y’all little *******, some let down I bleeped it
During this hour I’m speakin’, it sounds more like preachin’
Attend church on Sunday yet God left town for the weekend
I’m just proud that I’m breathin’, for another absurd reason
But the only secrets worth telling are the ones worth keeping
Floods sure leaked in, yet brainstorms are impenetrable
Its fate they say… AKA, the gateway for the inevitable
These bugged ensemble hits keep me up on-some-bull sh!t
He who’s got a full clip and empty stomach, not to fool with
Y’all stool pigeons presumed innocent… who you kiddin’?
Cruisin’ for women in a blue Honda Civic, cool your engines
The shoe ain’t fittin’, you got something to prove then spit it
Though few may listen, music’s given you a superstition
In the tune of symptoms, so those who are truly the sickest
Rule the village shooting more victims than Munich’s Olympics
Then sit in confession booths to seek the truth from reverends
If sleep’s a view of death, then dreams are proof of Heaven
Blessed with a silver tongue, its dumb luck I’m sick of talk
I’ll shut my trap; only catch is the dumb fukk that sets it off
Convinced text is gone, those once bold lines are missin’
And like a killer up for parole, y’all uphold my conviction
Want to break into the business? Y’all shoulda tried harder
No slacking off, hacks dread locks like Busta Rhymes barber
No wonder I panic, these fists you see punchin’ Thy planet
Just the tip of the iceberg that eventually sunk the Titanic
Six feet under I’m frantic, no question that says something
One thing led to another, and this confession has meant nothing.
The Path of a Psycho (http://www.isound.com/music/universe/)
Should I confess? Blood in the panties might suggest
I end sentences, while vets uppin’ their aunty like incest
Too inept to defeat me, a million to one bet at best
So take the high road, you’ll seem brilliant in retrospect
Killing it from the get go, my d!ck ain’t a quick trigger
Fukk a bytch figure; force feed ‘em to make their tits bigger
See this wide a cock has got these tricks whining often
Tap in that ass, turned on… then she sh!ts like a faucet
If dying is promised, once again death might have a trend
Drop a ton of knowledge, that tunnel have a light at the end
Despite what I send, if I don’t touch this crowd I’m reachin’
Then **** y’all little *******, some let down I bleeped it
During this hour I’m speakin’, it sounds more like preachin’
Attend church on Sunday yet God left town for the weekend
I’m just proud that I’m breathin’, for another absurd reason
But the only secrets worth telling are the ones worth keeping
Floods sure leaked in, yet brainstorms are impenetrable
Its fate they say… AKA, the gateway for the inevitable
These bugged ensemble hits keep me up on-some-bull sh!t
He who’s got a full clip and empty stomach, not to fool with
Y’all stool pigeons presumed innocent… who you kiddin’?
Cruisin’ for women in a blue Honda Civic, cool your engines
The shoe ain’t fittin’, you got something to prove then spit it
Though few may listen, music’s given you a superstition
In the tune of symptoms, so those who are truly the sickest
Rule the village shooting more victims than Munich’s Olympics
Then sit in confession booths to seek the truth from reverends
If sleep’s a view of death, then dreams are proof of Heaven
Blessed with a silver tongue, its dumb luck I’m sick of talk
I’ll shut my trap; only catch is the dumb fukk that sets it off
Convinced text is gone, those once bold lines are missin’
And like a killer up for parole, y’all uphold my conviction
Want to break into the business? Y’all shoulda tried harder
No slacking off, hacks dread locks like Busta Rhymes barber
No wonder I panic, these fists you see punchin’ Thy planet
Just the tip of the iceberg that eventually sunk the Titanic
Six feet under I’m frantic, no question that says something
One thing led to another, and this confession has meant nothing.
The Path of a Psycho (http://www.isound.com/music/universe/)