Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Whore Monger, artist - Sage Francis. Album song Still Sickly Business, in the genre Альтернатива
Date of issue: 31.12.2004
Record label: Strange Famous
Song language: English
Whore Monger |
Sinking |
My heads expanding in size but my stomachs shrinking |
It all evens out in the end thats what I’m thinking |
Sing the cashregister raps ch-ching ching. |
green backs bring the bling bling |
Na na I may stay home. |
rev got the ring ring ha ha hey hey poem |
While my answering machine screening calls. |
hailing safe and alone |
I want change in your message not the coin return of a payphone |
My boys are concerned that my brains blown |
Voices get turned away annoyed with what they say |
If its a gay tone n they like «hey ho!» |
then I’m all like «hey yo…» |
Few remain prone to spray straight shots with blood stained Glocks |
N a face of stone to melt your ice grill it might spill! |
N break ya Bone. |
Thugs-in-Harmony cd presenting tape should own |
Replace the thrown with some Non-Prophets drop bass ON |
Sage is know to pull your card kid so chill |
I mess up plans like robbers with no skill |
My only knowledge is the holy father SO THRILLED |
That you dont know still what God is making martyrs outta molehills |
Now if your soul is fufilled holed your dills |
N realize youre never satisfied til after u die from overkill |
Im from Placiboville but we know the drill |
Obscene is so ill but wait for the nurse to leave so I can throw the pill. |
I AM NOT SICK! |
demeneted or listed as twisted bitch |
Whats up with this kid |
Some insisted that I’m interested in running from the facts whispered |
In a mating call that get a busy signal from a number thats unlisted |
Lumberjacks are gifted. |
when I swung the axe it slid |
Out of my grasp n injured this invalid, invalid |
Toss-offs toss their cookies while tossing salads |
I ghost-write the most hype love sonnet n let some whore sing the ballad |
(hook) |
IMA WHORE… A WHORE MONGER! |
with a platinum voice |
IMA WHORE… A WHORE MONGER! |
cuz I haven’t a choice |
Servin up this cuz (S!) echo-freaks need to eat |
Excrament ain’t flauntin rose peddals |
I breed hard rocks to impregnate stones to grow pebbles |
I throw kettles at pan-handlers n pot-smokers |
Sell insest to sexually repressed stockbrokers |
I turn impetant pimps to sex slaves |
Manifest them with radio activity from x-rays |
I bootleg their skeletons the next day |
Son u can sense my dark mood once the sky gets gray |
Little kids r like «lets play! |
haha.» |
not right then |
Tell them to act like men then i’ll fight them |
Let em hit me first then be like «strike again!» |
Then its my turn to see how far the limbs of little tykes bend |
I tied em up, with burlap rope. |
«word?thats dope.» |
Manhandled the girl that lacked hope n her back broke |
She prefered crack cocain. |
the heroin needed heroin never again |
Ladies n gentlelele gentlelele gentlelele. |
Im from a species of zsars through the deep seas n stars |
Everything I do is important so I save my feces in jars |
N what I eat seems bizarr I deep-freeze n thaw |
Emcees who ain’t down by the gravities of law |
Now these anologies ain’t raw |
But when u secretly serve this well-done yall then become casualties of war |
Just call me Francis Allah n I was flattered |
Cuz I ghost-wrote the most dope love sonnet let dumb harlet sung the ballad |
(hook) |
…and I haven’t a choice n if ya snatches ain’t moist just |
Sing-a-long c’mon |
La la laaaaa. |
la la la laaaa la la la la la |
La la laaaaa. |
la la la la la la lala la la |