
Date of issue: 31.01.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Rhymesayers Entertainment
Song language: English
Bush League Psych-Out Stuff |
Auditon? |
Yeah I got this… |
Yeah I was at your show |
Yeah… No I mean no I didn’t like it No I’m just saying I was there |
And a… Doomtree! |
You suck ha ha ha… |
Alright… Cecil Otter, P.O.S., Sims |
Dessa, whatever the fuck she calls herself |
Paper Tiger, Swedish name for a Japanese punk band |
Joe Mavin, you look like Alanis Morissette |
Sometimes I feel like a bastard surrounded by fathers |
Fasioning themselves to resemble action figures |
Passing opinions across the pasture like we asked you |
Like we have to have your last pieces gathered, like it even matters |
Like we’re trying to climb this ladder a little bit faster |
Like I’d rather let the captain lead us into disaster (crash) |
Like the bladder never adapted to laughter |
Like I won’t be the first rapper thats sent to your plaster casters |
And after the new dawn is gone |
My name is Sean, out on a lawn (?) |
Put my songs in these coupons |
I lost my soul and watched it drip down her futon |
I lost my gardens (?) out of a bush that sprouts snook bombs |
Now I’m looking for a word that don’t exist |
To help disrout this selfish pride that I hide inside this fist |
We’ve arrived to loosen up this noose that keeps us lifted |
And rip these stictches while I introduce this piece of… |
Yeah stand back (stand back) |
Let me be the target, let your bullett hit, I’ll handle that |
Let me see you flex aggressive ignorance, see half these cats |
Stagger like the simple common sense to put one foot before the other |
Hop, trip, slip |
Slid into home base base like you planned rehearse |
Some kind of celebration dance, you got tagged at first |
And kept running |
Jumping the gun for what you got coming |
Homie no handout’s til’the pitcher hits you |
Your acting like your stitches rippin' |
I got nothing but what my crew and open folks are bumpin' |
Trustin’their trust and feeling bastard for trusting their trust |
So fuck it, everything else gets tugged under rugs |
Til’I get something like a crowd of cats mumbling my words |
Show me some heart, let me tug |
(Slug: Give me a pound or a hug) |
Hear the sound like a drug homie |
Just free-based beats, life’s cheap |
If you live it right, right? |
If the words are tight, might |
Bright the head in the dark, kill the night ride (?) |
Stand back, no piggy backing with the mad mats |
A mini apple road warrior give me that hand clap |
From the hash back to amtrack to aircraft |
Ransacked every city that the kids be at, the furgomack |
Jumping hurdles that you carried in your back pack |
The love curdles at the match books last act |
Licking the stamps back just for physical flashbacks |
The times of writing rhymes to get my cats and my plants back |
They tell me I deserve to be happy, now doesn’t seem valid |
'Til we get rid of half of How many are doing nothing but sucking on flavours? |
I’m try’na edit the credits while their critiquing the trailers |
So I’mma rant like theres something to say |
Making up my own dance I’mma do it this way (watch me) |
And I’mma try and take it all around the world |
(While I’m out on tour keep your hand off my girl!) |
Sometimes I feel like the bastard son |
Oh where the fucks my father |
Like a shattered shoulder |
Like the chick got smashed off my class |
at the door with my shoes and my coat |
So now I’m here again, I brought the clown, we came to rock the boat |
I hold you down, you set them up |
I’ll set the bar and drive around |
We’ll let your style do the knocking, here’s a pen go to town |
Paint it with big broad strokes, I’ll study your path |
And hope your pride can take a joke when I say its dope with earcoats and laugh |
Man I’m pleased to shit the ass |
How can I add you up, devide your crew and still be horrible at math? |
Now answer that and stay fasionable (just try it) |
Go bash the bricks and stomp them? |
kid the princess still ain’t at this castle |
Mr Of Course, the youngster hoarse from screaming on him |
But shit, I toss the lozange quick and drop my fullbacks (?) on him |
Turning teens into fiends from the beats to the bear hugs |
I got the stuff to get some buying up the ear plugs |
(Close up your ears… Close up your whole face… |
This will melt your brain… Oozing |
Oooo no… I wouldn’t go outside looking like that… Ohhh dear…) |
Song tags: #Psych
Name | Year |
---|---|
Gravedigger ft. P.O.S feat. Angelenah, P.O.S feat. Angel Davanport | 2017 |
Faded ft. P.O.S feat. Justin Vernon, Lady Midnight | 2017 |
Molecules ft. P.O.S, Terra Lopez | 2017 |
Bumper | 2012 |
Bleeding Hearts Club (Mpls. Chapter) | 2016 |
Paul Kersey to Jack Kimball | 2016 |
Audition Mantra | 2016 |
Yeah Right (Science Science) | 2016 |
Living Slightly Larger | 2016 |
A Teddy Bear and A Tazer | 2016 |
Suicide Uma Schrantz | 2016 |
Audition M.D. | 2007 |
Half-Cocked Concepts | 2016 |
Safety In Speed (Heavy Metal) | 2016 |
De La Souls | 2016 |
The Kill In Me | 2016 |
Dork Court ft. P.O.S, Four Fists, Four Fists, P.O.S, Astronautalis | 2018 |
Get Ate ft. P.O.S feat. Gerald | 2017 |
Pieces/Ruins ft. P.O.S feat. Dwynell Roland, Busdriver | 2017 |
Bully ft. P.O.S feat. Moncelas Boston, Rapper Hooks | 2017 |