[Wilkshake]
I got a monkey wrench and my jacket is drenched
With the lust for enlightenment's a practical use for being frightened
Blending up genres and fornicating with writings
Slicing out fighting, biting down on the right thing
There’s plenty of things wrong with the right and left wings
Entire political idea makes it hard for me to sing
So I spit fire and magma
If you got something I want
I'll offer to fairly trade ya'
With no politics, no threshold or tight grips
If we slip, that’s protected by the geniuses that we elected
The highеst IQ, 172
It's surely not me, but it might be you
Thе smartest people who are innocent of hate mongering crimes
Should run this country and then write me some rhymes
The brain chants crap and riddle my mind
Blinded by gadgets
That systematically teach us to waste our time
Our brains turned off - click
No action except for the political mind control
Causing population compaction
We got factions, devoted writers
The lyrics that we spit cannot be glued together any tighter
We're building to expand
Poetry that's not bland
Alone we stand
With a simplistic gland
That secretes SpitBoss magik
Creates MC's for mic stands
And we're taking the stand today
[Kas Solo]
Yo, when I look into the mirror I see a lost spirit
Empty soul with no feelings
But my path is getting clearer
I just dabble with the lyrics
Go to battle with the spears lit
Saddle up and tear shit
With a battle axe and bear grip
A werewolf walking barefoot in a sandstorm
Is Mr. Surefoot holding fire to keep his hands warm
The dam's gone, the sandbags didn't last long
Overflowing in poets on my ocean seems to drag on
A madman with his staff singing a sad song
Chants rolling off their lips signifying passion
Action packed and verbal combatant
Ready for wack ass rappers
To talk back to catch a dagger
I’ma watch him fucking stagger
Holding the neck where I stabbed him
And bag him after I tag him
So my heart is fucking savage
So talking trash will get you nothing but your back hit
Wrapped up in plastic
Every verse is magik
Yeah, uh, yo, uh, yo, yo It’s like this, yo, it's like this, yo, yo
[Mark Deez]
Darkness to light, light to darkness
Writing is harmless, reciting the god’s text
You like it, you want that
A mortal, immortal portal
Ready for combat Steady, confetti
Deadly, your mom dead
In a calm interlock
SpitBoss, spitbox, get props, shit, stop
Shit starts, big horns, lives on Pawn star professional
Congressional, wrecking you I never lose
Selling the jewels to celibate Jews
Telling you fools, oh, make a move
I'm letting you guess the truth
Professionable, texting your boo
Give her sex time
Write lyrics while she doming me
I call them headlines
You get yours, I'll get mine
The bones are lovely
The collector protector
Your bitch gonna fuck me
She love me, a man on a mission
In tantric positions the stanza was written
Who's the boss? Tony Danza commissioned
Your damsel is missing
Don’t just set the bait
Let your hands do the fishing
I am digging like archaeological sites
With gospel on mic, hostile your wife
Like Eli Roth you beef fly soft
Crush you under the weight of my pen
Rewind the track and make it again
I've forsaken your kin
Taking your wins to the lost column
Post-mortem cause problem
Holocaust harden, yeah
[Wilkshake]
Sunshine acidic, form cryptic politics
Mouse clicks and glowing sticks
With magic tricks and hick, wicks
Horses and salt licks
The devil's walking stick
Places bricks upon bricks
Shells packed with facts
And stacked with abstracts
Subtract and exact Ryan Axe
And Spitboss packs causes reactions
Independent artists' interactions
And factions are satisfactory
Spitboss raptors hold stories of glory
Metaphors of mysteries pouring hard parties in stone quarries
Don't wanna hear your sob story
About your burnt chicken cacciatore
I'll ship that shit rotten I'm bold and exploring
The evils are soaring, I'm adoring
My new laminate flooring
And restoring and mourning
Sleeping and snoring, the forwards are scoring
The folklore and closed doors
Makes it impossible to ignore
Malice objectives with perspective directives
And incentives demented bent
Fell sentenced segmented and prevented
From having accents experiencing torment
Sleeping in tents, ventilation is what I spent
Resenting the present, the past but not the future
Right now is a gaping wound in need of mental sutures
More inclusion, less illusions
I'm proving the truth, making isosceles triangles obtuse
With a social Spitboss can noose
[Outro]
Yeah, yeah SpitBoss professionals in this motherfucker
Yeah Grindhouse, man, it's how we do it
