(Chorus)
Uhhhh!!
I wanna piss on your grave!
make me feel alright!
Yaa Yaa Yaa!!
(Repeat)
While you was eatin'
T-bone steaks
in palatial estates,
ornate with gates that automate
so those you hate could only spectate,
I was kissing my mate
through iron grates
while the guards wait,
50 cent rate for making license plates.
My papermate pen shakes
vibrates from 808 quakes
over breaks
dug outta crates
that sag from weight
of the vinyl plates...
girls work till they back ache
and their breasts con't lactate
you're laughin' to the bank
smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes
contesting, contesting 1,2,3
never shoulda been put in the penitentiary
Boots from The Coup would like to say
I'll shove these foodstamps down your throat
just to block your airway
and that's the fair way 'cuz everyday
you're on a moola mission
military killin' millions 'til you low on ammunition
bodies beyond recognition
twisted complex positions
then their kids work in your factories
and die of malnutrition
see your net profit stats
hold some murderous facts
but if you listen to the news you mighta
heard it was blacks
you got us herded in shacks
I got the pertinent tax
how 'bout the one for when I bust my ass
and you relax
I'll hit your head wit an axe
play soccer wit' your brain
to make it official
slice your jugular vein
still writin' songs that my momma could sang
and if you feel some yellow drips on your skull
it ain't rain.
(Chorus)
That bitch ass on the front of a buck
never gave a fuck
he forced hi
