| Welcome to a piece of brain tissue, my brain’s lungs
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| Filled with octane like liquid it came from
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| Some silly, said her tits sellin illy
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| Really? |
| By the jar? |
| Pump the car full of grey jelly
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| Called her Ronda, after I shit on the dash
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| Cause I can’t stand hooked up on dust
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| The three manuveur so swiftly in and out of looters
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| Through checkpoints with juice in stashed coolers
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| 2002, my album’s played through
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| ID on the window like it’s fucking Beirut
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| Too bad no planes flew into MTV
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| I’ll never get a platinum plaque for MP3
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| Being blackballed by a white MC — Pause
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| I guess that faggot found the right MD
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| And I’m twisted but not like faggots that suck fame
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| This clown is saying I’m sicker with metal than mudvayne
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| I train my following like a bitch modelin
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| H is like a God and it won’t stop hollerin
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| Fuck needing a TV to be a rockstar
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| Punch a hole through Mark Wahlbergs chest and dent a copcar
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| Put my brain in it, I wouldn’t last a minute
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| Scribble some shit in 30, I’m love like gimmicks
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| Sluts, cynics, ducks with dipped spinnage
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| Fuckin you up in the front row’s good for image
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| I gotta walk on, half feet in Harlem for a gorilla
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| That lost his family and want revenge on his killer
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| Clapped the poacher, fled the stomach of rap through and ulcer
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| Covered in blood, eating with vultures
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| Off the chain and got a hook in his backskull to my feet
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| Breastfeeding, moms was cooking up crack
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| Drop me in a pot, cop in the spot, pistols gleaming in the sun
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| Look son — I’m fistal fiendin
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| Nine to script with leading any malicious beatings
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| Specially if feeled if the couples bitch is breedin
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| Six is reading, bitterly gritty
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| Caught a GTA charge before Liberty City
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| Too bad no brains blew out no heads plenty
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| I’ll prolly die after I Blow like Ted Demme
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| There’s no conspiracy, your bitch is a forced fit
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| In the telly yelling «Behold the pale horse dick»
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| Fuck the Taliban, I’m back to Ballys, and
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| Keep your little faggot brother off her Sally, man
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| I can explain this «do not cross this line"in my brain
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| Feds in the crib, but they’re not finding the cane
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| Cause time in the game, New York is trife
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| My boy T on the lamb like a fork and knife
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| The corporate life, too fond of the blonde talker
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| So I grew a beard and switched sides like John Walker |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Escape To 88 , by - Cage. Song from the album Movies For The Blind, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп