the kid

Description

New Magnum Opus mixtape track! Lyrics: Here's a joke, stop me if you've heard it before: Two guys walk into sixteen bars, murder 'em all. Can I kick it, like Ron Burgandy's dog, to the fiends as they're screaming out their vertical jaws? Cursin' us for bringing up all these blood curdling thoughts for no purpose but to perk up at their personal loss? Flow together, go together just like slurpees and straws, extra frosty and of course we show no mercy at all. Plus I'm perfect if it's pertinent and ain't it, gee? Claim youre real but all you really do is take from me? So all you fakes and freaks'll get your face and teeth sprayed on the wall like a bansky piece! If that ain't gangster then I don't know what gangster means. Your shit is basic, so brace yourself to taste defeat. It's amazing, but even with a modicum of evidence, It's plain to see that Spesh to Death's a century ahead of them. And bet you can catch the kid, spitting over festering beats as they slouch toward their outing out in bethlehem, resurrecting Brechtian reveries of intellect again. too indirect? I fiend to get respect and set a precedent for every man who's ever been neglected by the best of them to get his message off his chest so he can take a breath and then taste success that isn't measured by a checkbook, let his chin up, get done just ducking life and start directing it. Ring ring, yes hello, this is Arison Cain, rugged like a motherfuckin' bear in your brain, nefarious, Al Swearingen tearin' in, disparaging your character, a veritable barrel of vernacular. Back to bury the hatchet where the train tracks meet the classics and I'm twirling my mustache because there's bout to be an accident I'm bout to bracket this, add an nb and an asterix and a footnote to connote my position as a masochist. Scrawl it in a novel and engrave it on my casket lid and laugh until my abdomen cant be described with adjectives. Got beef? I'm fuckin' ravenous with avarice for savage shit. I'm bout to take a bath in it with bubbles cause I'm bad as shit. Coast to coast like I'm Brak and shit, Magnum Opus is attackin' this. Make a toast to the madness, kid, and come crashing though the glass again. Stone Cold, Old Crow, boat loads of Coldstone, no vocoders, oh but so what we're broke. And folks, get your coats cuz we're chilling your bones, and you will know us by the brilliance that you feel in our tones. Grown ups are talking so pipe the fuck down and light a gas soaked rag in a bottle of crown. Hmmm, you're in for a throttling now... No I'm not done, this is phase one of this, son, so get amped, get pumped, jump and put your fist up, get drunk, hit blunts, plug into your system 'til it muddy up your vision, like what? Did you miss us?