[Chorus: SCUM]
Yo, this gathering of the lost minds
Smells of death spells it out like them tossed nines (Yeah)
No more finds like the FEDs will not find you
Don't be blind as we creep up behind you (Hey)
Hear the squeal of the tires then the gun clack (Scrrp)
Pin you down to the ground like a thumb tack (Thump)
And demand some respect, blow this last chance (Boom)
They be speaking of you in the past tense
[Verse 1: SCUM]
You better show some respect
Better check what you think 'bout the scene that we in
It's not just booze that we drink
Not just drugs that we do and not just us chasing hoes
It is work rocking shows and digging holes for our foes (Yeah)
And it is work that dangers us tremendously
Motherfuckers crumble and fall apart before your eyes
Many get hurt while some will die infamously
More common guys forgotten days after he dies
So go buy an album from an underground artist or else that artist might give up and get a gun instead (Boom)
Of dropping songs nobody likes, he's going where the crowd is
That never came to any shows and many end up dead (Yeah)
It's not that hard to show some love much easier than running on bloody stumps or we won't take your shit and take your feet
This underground will never die meanwhile your time is coming
So better show us some respect the next time that we meet
[Chorus: SCUM]
Yo, this gathering of the lost minds
Smells of death spells it out like them tossed nines (Yeah)
No more finds like the FEDs will not find you
Don't be blind as we creep up behind you (Hey)
Hear the squeal of the tires then the gun clack (Scrrp)
Pin you down to the ground like a thumb tack (Thump)
And demand some respect, blow this last chance (Boom)
They be speaking of you in the past tense
[Verse 2: Ill Temper]
You stole my respect-tators, loading a foul choice
Your talks need Altoids that can grow when I found ploys
Far from in the midnight church go and I sprout joy
Sacrificial suicide, it's time to throw in the towel boy
Bickering in pants and these rodents make loud noise
All bark, no bite the broke with a proud void
Empty try, fill up holding that growl voice
They shout, I make incisions 'til they fully open and gouge joints
Scooping out ligaments, you're of the heart but not living it
Vivid with the vividness you'll be frigid in a minute quick and different
Don't give a shit, read the realm wickedness
Alcohol, drugs, seizures, concussions now this is sick
Man his brain damaged sitting in the clinic with unexplainable lacerations
Wouldn't believe the images
Pleading innocent demons
The only witness
This crazy pain made me slain
Limitless victims this ain't frivolous, yo
[Chorus: SCUM]
Yo, this gathering of the lost minds
Smells of death spells it out like them tossed nines (Yeah)
No more finds like the FEDs will not find you
Don't be blind as we creep up behind you (Hey)
Hear the squeal of the tires then the gun clack (Scrrp)
Pin you down to the ground like a thumb tack (Thump)
And demand some respect, blow this last chance (Boom)
They be speaking of you in the past tense
[Verse 3: Tragik]
(Tragik)
I demand respect even when the fans have left (Yeah)
Me and SCUM will put yo ass in check
I forget I cup it and rip it, original leave ya plasma wet
All over your shirt you're gonna get merked down the mic if you step
Like an avalanche I travel fast, ravage from here to Halifax
Gathering up the fragile, and smacking them with my battle axe (Smack)
These rappers cannot see me cause they're teamy and have cataracts
I get under your skin so much it'll give your fucking dad a rash (Ha)
Who coming to get what is mine?
Shaking the game with a thunder sound (Fuck you)
If you try making divides and breaking the spine of the underground
Never happened, better strap in, struggle leads to better rapping
Fed up, not really but I give you the boot bitch salute your captain (Heels up)
Ain't got backing man we fund this ourselves
Studio time, music videos among everything else (Yeah)
The Gorefather and Tragik man (Yeah)
There be no doubt bitch (Naw)
We'll be making our ways to the grave, R-I-P Geno Cultshit (No cult shit)
[Chorus: SCUM]
Yo, this gathering of the lost minds
Smells of death spells it out like them tossed nines (Yeah)
No more finds like the FEDs will not find you
Don't be blind as we creep up behind you (Hey)
Hear the squeal of the tires then the gun clack (Scrrp)
Pin you down to the ground like a thumb tack (Thump)
And demand some respect, blow this last chance (Boom)
They be speaking of you in the past tense
