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Fix Up, Look Sharp

This is the post excerpt.

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I’ve got a clean shave and a sack of smoke and a toothbrush and a bag of coke, tonight is the night I go for broke, tonight, tonight, as I take a toke, a puff, a puff, I pass, no choke, I pass out ’til a god had spoke, I awoke and quaked, awake, I lay in wait to croak, until my death, soak, I’ll stay loc’d, save your breath, I’m slitting throats, to paint the town red, coat after coat…

Machiavelli 

I am the truth, you’ll be a believer, everytime, I double my pleasure deceiving the deceiver, I cut to the chase, chasing you with a cleaver, Oh, I’ll be the reaper, a rapper, a seeker, times in the game have never looked bleaker, even when the bass pours out from the stadium speakers, your lies are weaker or whacker and cheaper and I am the truth in the booth even when I’m asleep or creeping on reefer, in rafters crafting on ciphers for weezers, crapping on ciphers from retards and people-pleasers, I pick these people out surgically with tweezers, they’re young but they’re geezers and grayed as new leasers, they’re pawns in the game that was made for dream weavers…

Mercury Poisoning

Ask me if I give a fuck about a clique, spray the rich kids in school ’cause I’ve got a .40 and a dick, it’s– not that I give a fuck about a thing, remix the melody on the disc like I’m lord of the rings, which could– be a fucking lot of things, broke down in the passenger lane without a set of wings.
Well this purgatory, it’s a story of hell and blackwater, the river Styx, a triple six, outside the gates, it’s hotter, won’t pray no more, won’t pray no more, won’t talk to the father, enter the doors, exit the store, can’t keep shit so why bother?
Ask me if I give a fuck about a diss, spray the rich kids in school ’cause I’ve got a .40 and I don’t miss, it’s– not that I give a fuck about a thing, remix the melody on the disc on the windowpane, which could– be one of two of things, broke down in the passenger lane without a set of wings.
That tender trust, that wanderlust, that first hit of that blotter, it’s dangerous, don’t fuck with us, welcome to the slaughter.
Well this purgatory, it’s a story of hell and blackwater, the river Styx, a triple six, outside the gates, it’s hotter, won’t pray no more, won’t pray no more, won’t talk to the father, enter the doors, exit the store, can’t keep shit so why bother?

‘Merica

Sacrificing brevity to affix a fucking rhyme, like Jesus on the cross, we nail it down while he’s crying, sighing, sizing up the competition– I’d be lying if I said the odds weren’t slim but we’re still rising, still flying, I’m frying at 30 thousand feet, frozen off the snow blunt, staring at my feet, clad in Vans but the people in the Vans don’t speak, they just solve mysteries, the machine don’t sleep, climbing up another hill, more like a cliff, shit’s steep, like an eagle landing on a rock atop a mountain top, ‘Merica, we roll deep, appearing on your block, convoy in the backdrop, we street sweep, and when the drum drips dry we creep in the Jeeps, ten thousand rounds spent cause we play for keeps, shit’s bleak…

Tiger Woods

Pieces fall like Dominos, reaching for abominable, my spirit is indomitable, my urges are unconscionable, stopping a fall, stepping in shit, hand me the hose ’cause the fire’s been lit, spreading the fire as I reign in spit, spitting such flames that’d tame a bitch and that’s game rich, pinch in the cut, Tiger on the beat and I’m sinking these puts, tiger with the sheets so the gates are shut, party in Hell with one of Tiger’s sluts, not in a rut, not in a rush either, I have done mountains of coke and huffed on a flag soaked in aether, run…