| I’m a mongoloid with an ongoing convoy
|
| Tats on my face and my hands and my arms, boy
|
| I don’t fuck around, boy, I am very down
|
| I’m an underdog, blue, Huckleberry Hound
|
| I used to wear a crown encrusted with fake jewels
|
| Guess I had to die so I could resurrect and make moves
|
| Most of these mainstream raps sound like Playschool
|
| Now I am Skeletor, I live in Castle Greyskull
|
| More cigarette smoke than an ashtray
|
| I am underground again like the Batcave
|
| Or a parking lot. |
| I’m in the darkest spot
|
| I’m paying rent on a loft and a parking spot
|
| I’m trying to walk these dogs but they bark a lot
|
| I am so stressed my heart could stop
|
| Man, I shred through every verse like Wolverine
|
| But I got visions of myself on the silver screen
|
| I just leave my house, I’m in my room all day
|
| I-I-I just leave my house, I’m in my room all day
|
| I just leave my house, I’m in my room all day
|
| While my fans be chanting Madchild, Boom-Bye-Yae
|
| You get shot with a Glock. |
| I get shot by a Minolta
|
| You get paid by selling drugs. |
| I get paid by a promoter
|
| Now tell everybody that the game is over
|
| Madchild spit greased lightning like John Travolta
|
| Shit’s real. |
| Multiple personality disorder
|
| How I feel? |
| How come they won’t allow me across the border?
|
| What’s the deal? |
| This old ox got hit by a road block
|
| In old socks with a gold Glock, got cold cocked
|
| I got no emotions like a robot
|
| Northwest King from Van to Manitoba
|
| They tried to tell me Madchild it’s over
|
| But I refused to be old news like I was Hova
|
| Now I’m afraid of what I might do
|
| Looking in the mirror like «I don’t even like you»
|
| Sober and I’m dangerous, can’t afford a strike two
|
| So I’ll keep rapping till I’m ice cold and bright blue |