Spitfall

INTRODUCING STAR

we saw you every day

with your hands on your crotch and so much to say

you went from bouncing toy cars with golden motors

to neon striped BMWs and a court of drugged up nodders and quoters

namefucking fame on all photos

all cheered on and applauded by even richer promoters

now when you’re a star

when you’ve reached this far

and the world really knows who you are

(really?)

you show off your six black Mercedeses and drink Cristal like they all do

and the poor outside your gates appall you

and the only hood you see is the one on your car

do you even have a clue as to who you are?

bro I don’t think so

I mean Mercedes

man what a stiff old dull fart’s republican shit car

sick of hearing you preach to the poor like before

only now you’re a coward

only letting TV through your door

getting older

take a bow and just go

the rage on the stage getting colder like your hits on the chart

but then the talk shows can still get you hard

doin’ rhymes on your prime time fistfights and spittin’ grime in the limelight like a star gets a chip off your shoulder

a boulder that rolls and rolls over and over and over

there’s nothing like a broken childhood

there’s nothing like a broken home

there’s nothing like a tale from your hood

there’s nothing like a record of restriction orders

outspoken borderline disorders

a violent long way to the top

the longer that you fought yourself up

the longer the spitfall

THUS QUOTE THE CRAVING

you’re so fucking lost that with all of the costs

you still don’t see that in reality

the one thing you fail to buy yourself is a personality

you’re trapped in a mould of the rap

you sell but you’re sold

I mean

can’t believe that you’re paying all that gold

to some home decorator that hands you buckets of conformity

seems you’re losing your way together with your policy man

ending up with a new definition of poverty

it’s a joke

like those you make in every video

to reach the kids with the dough

with every copied “aha yo” and worn out “bro”

guess what we need is yet another clown

who can feed our breed

with another look and hooker hook

now when “bitch” is mundane you take the lead with “wassup ho”

and let TV blur your mouth once more

just what we need in every store

thus quote the craving: “forever more!”

you’re so right

a shiny knight on a white steed

truly a hero

yeah right

fuck you

fuck you right down to the core

you know what?

you’re just another Parental Advisory bore

there’s nothing like a broken childhood

there’s nothing like a broken home

there’s nothing like a tale from your hood

there’s nothing like a record of restriction orders

outspoken borderline disorders

a violent long way to the top

the longer that you fought yourself up

the longer the spitfall...

when you’re rappin’ your shit y’all

REDEFINING VOMATORIUM

yo

I guess when you’re that loaded

you’d better empty the barrel

every chance you get

is that so?

empty your word and pose magazine

in magazine after magazine

let every shot go let the shit flow

‘cause the show must go on and on and on

you’re it bro

but it’s sad to know

when your star implodes

all that shit hits the fans

just like your words back when you shone

but it’s getting late in the game

trapped in repeating your name

again and again

like you’re scared we’ll forget it

can’t blame you

apart from that name you’re all embarrassingly the same

it’s so lame - can’t you get it?

and perhaps you are right in that fear

more sane than you appear

in your self deploring cock obsessive

koks delirium

but I say

to me you just redefine

the old romans’ vomatorium

there’s nothing like a broken childhood

there’s nothing like a broken home

there’s nothing like a tale from your hood

there’s nothing like a record of restriction orders

outspoken borderline disorders

a violent long way to the top

the longer that you

claim that you have fought yourself up

the longer the spitfall...

MAN OF THE MASSES

you’re a man of the masses

took all of the classes

their asses are yours

all those bores who are paying the bills

for your palace uphills

and your pills that will help you proceed

in your greed

you are free of the chains that you need on your fans

to adore you

to kneel down before you

more precious to you than your brains and your hands

they live for you

if you could just see this old tree

this patriarchic hierarchy

up where you want to be

you need miles of roots to lick your boots

don’t you see?

you’re a man of the masses

you need all those asses

their fate to relate to the one that you were

do you know who you were?

who you are?

not the one in your words that they buy

they concur you conquer

though a natural flunker

and you need them to stay not to fly

to obey like the dogs that they are

the cogs under the hood of your Mercedes car

they will pay for your trip to the stiff upper lip

you’re a man of the masses

your trip is a journey through classes

you are high

they are low

and you need it to be so

see, without them you’d be nothing more than before

and you know that’s not much

it is just or unjust such:

just a sad little man with his hand on his crotch

there’s nothing like a broken childhood

there’s nothing like a broken home

there’s nothing like a tale from your hood

there’s nothing like a record of restriction orders

outspoken borderline disorders

a violent long way to the top

the longer that you fought yourself up

the longer the spitfall...

the longer the spit falls...

when you’re rappin’ your shit y’all

YO

you’re just another Parental Advisory sticker surfing beach boy

yo