| And in conclusion
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| P. Dank
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| I be that broke motherfucker, Maine’s where I’m reppin'
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| Better than these rappers but nobody buys my record
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| What you don’t like broke Hova?
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| You think that I’m more like a Hoover?
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| Think that I suck, I don’t give a fuck
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| You can go ahead, hit me with a low blow like a tuba
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| I don’t toot my horn but
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| I blew up quick like McGrubber
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| I didn’t get a Lex like Luger
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| And I went hard till my cheeks looked fuscia
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| Used to want to beat King Koopa
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| Now all I want to beat is the beats
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| And the freak in the mirror, when the demon appears
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| I have seen my fears, I could be that loser
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| Even if it meant quitting reefer
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| Stop staying high like a roofer
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| So when you YouTube my manoeuvres
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| You can see my as a mover, rapper, producer
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| At the computer, ha!
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| With a Fender Strat and a pen that’s black
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| Trying to prove I’m super
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| While the bass line barks in the woofers
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| Track liars, trains coming for you goobers
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| The fat lady is singing notes and ringing of her foopa
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| I suggest you find a cougar, find a way to dupe her
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| Into thinking that she’s Demi Moore and you are Ashton Kutcher
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| Because you’re fucked otherwise, other guys
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| Besides, we consider these rhymes lullabies
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| Sleep tight, fuckers!
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| P. Dank
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| I’m from where we don’t celebrate soccer wins
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| Where the broke contrast with the opulent
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| Most on blast for profitin'
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| While the folks shake cups on the block cement
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| Marriages on the rocks again
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| Mom looking for a new pops again
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| Kids witnessed all the arguments
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| Now they lose interest when you talk to them
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| Oh shit, quick, bring a doctor in
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| We’re gonna need Facebook and some oxygen
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| Stat… (EEEH), bring it back
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| We got spray tanned children, abandoned buildings
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| Kids stay still ‘cause the cancer killed 'em
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| I’ll keep moving till I’m handing millions
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| And I ride till I crash, all kinds of Zildjians
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| Teachers broke but the man get millions
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| Or rather, teachers broke but the man get quadrillions
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| ‘Cause the man stay drillin'
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| We got children, in buildings, with ceilings, that’s cracked
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| While villains got villas, they’re chilling, it’s whack
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| But that’s the Earth, dig in, or get in the dirt
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| You got one ear that works, could be worse
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| So if there really is a big fluffy Jesus, tell him let’s get weeded
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| I know he’s got connections, text him, look, Ryan Peters' needed
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| I’m speaking, it’s like I’m bleeding, fame like flames pleadin'
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| I came to change games, it’s lame to blame demons
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| Proclaim the late evenings, take a break, heathens
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| I seize this beat screamin', I steam while peeps leavin'
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| The trees creek, I sleep near my family
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| The Devil ain’t a fantasy, I know she wants to dance with me |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song In Conclusion , by - Spose. Song from the album The Audacity!, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп