Lyrics Half-Cocked Concepts - P.O.S

Half-Cocked Concepts

…I'm auditioning for Charles Bronson’s part in Deathwish VI
You know what I’m saying?
(I'm taking it over)
We’ve gotta give him a big rest in peace though, right?
In fact this one’s dedicated to him…
First of all, fuck Bush.
That’s all, that’s the end of it
Second, give it up to R.S.E.
for hookin' up a kid
I got the two best, the newest plus the truest
Doomtree, Rhymesayers Entertainment (you know the name!)
Bred for quality control from your boroughs to your borders
Dropping hack emcee’s off balconies like Tony Rocky Horror
The uh, the baby-danglin, words hanglin
Hottest snatch the band-aid off the neck of Marsellus Wallace
P.O., you know the dirty one disturbing categories
The matador in black, killin bullshit allegories
Provide the hurt, these other beastly storing stories make em'
Get up, get up, get up, and get something done!
I spray terms like throw-ups, I’m 'bout to spit a fill-in
Cos me and Turbo Nemesis are soon to be arthritic villains
Still instillin hatred, laced with manifesto modes
And our back beat’s to beat your heart beat off beat, let’s go!
Excuse me
Just turn it on, and leave it runnin
Nation under the gun and
Nothin linin our pockets, we frontin like Cool Runnings
Somethin so simple sparkin, we wait, but nothin’s comin
Chrome in our fingertips, they eat shit, like faulty plumbin
Just games for days, busy bees makin our honey
And skee-ball tickets still don’t count as real money
It’s somethin so ridiculous
Funny, so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin they listenin
Still I’m sittin skits and laughin while they all missin this
There’s still songs about bitches, from 9/11 witnesses (ha ha)
So here I am in the Middle West
The heart land ma' fucka, sippin whole milk ma’fucka
Our nights are colder right?
Minnesota nice
But a frost-bit fist with a smile stings twice so um, fight or flight
Who gives a damn anyways
Does it make a fuckin difference in these apathetic days?
(I'm done with them)
Lean back, just relax, we tell 'em
Get up, get up, get up, and get something done
We don’t dance, we just pull up our pants, and then we
Get up, get up, get up, and get something done
(What, you want something like a cake? Want a Guinness or somethin?)
Get up, get up, get up, and get something done
It’s somethin so ridiculous
Funny, so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin they listenin
You look sick homie, eat a gun!
(that's terrible, haha)
I’mma eat a gun, I look tired
It’s probably the insomnia, I sleep like Tyler Durden
STICKIN' FEATHERS IN YOUR ASS DOES NOT MAKE YOU A CHICKEN
Holla if you hit the bottom runnin'
A fool among the scholars
Bumpin somethin about clubs, bubs, and hubs
I got a message in a bottle, written in gas and oil
Signed with a rag and a match, here — catch
Slap to rebel yell
The rebels fell, embedded in brick
Ain’t no fuckin marble memorial
For pissed-off kids waitin for Death Wish VI
Like Bronson, ain’t got enough to flip his face to vigilance again
Once it has been, the victim mends
Barely our friends who think about what’s up with Jen and Ben
You think it’s been?
(I think we should put up in this… Fuck outta here!)
Let’s get out
Lean back, and relax, we tell 'em
Get up, get up, get up, and get something done
(Put the ma' fuckin Fresca down)
Get up, get up, get up, and get something done
(Damn it! What the fuck?)
Get up, get up, get up, and get something done
It’s somethin so ridiculous
Funny, so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin they listenin
God damn it!
Yo, do you like Fresca?
You’re fired
you’re not getting pai-, You’re fired too
Studio Do you wanna
Sick- Sick of the news
So give the brain a rest
Cut the MPR
And sing along to the soviets -ets