• Audio

Lyrics

1

Woah, don't you know I'm stealing the glow?
Even stacks of dynamite is like "He's gonna blow!"
and even though I'm more crackalicious than fifty Smith reunions,
your rhymes have got more bunions than a field of Aunt Petunias
I can't stand your outback lyrics for a whole album hour
so I'm jumping sleezy ship and into measly hotel showers
Woah, don't you know I'm stealing the show
It's so easy to cop the mic when Doom doesn't even go
We'll never know who locked up that old hip-hop
but I must've swallowed the key because my shit is opening doors,
yeah, so check my drawers for the next step
but you can't inherit my trekking, that secret's kept
You're preppy long shottie, I'm welcome back jotter
your perspective on life's about as clear as this bong water.
It's a gun, not a glock. Talk the real talk.
I'll smack your smirk off with a smock, you artsy fartsy mockery.

2

I pioneer techs like DW Griffith
Flow's so twisted, you're watching the room pivot
My livid spits are dividends, I'm starting trends and milk 'em
Before the people on MTV can kill em
Gems be free in my verses because pounds of pressure willed 'em
I build 'em from cold coal and hide them like the north pole
Once disguised now you hear it in my vocal strides
All rise, I ridin backs of my wise guys
Worldwide, got my eyes on a high prize
Steel bats supa-size up, the street cries.
It's all fries when you Ketchup on the flip-side.
I reside in the fly kid's back ride.
Rap, the card I be callin
So I get all my shots in
While the fakers be ballin,
Got em freezing like Stallin
Drink and passing out ain't my shpeil.
Wear your ass out like Nascar wheels.

3

My rhymes explodin like a Lap Dell,
But it's only cause my hardware was made well
Got you spinnin like a Koopa Troopa red shell
Jump Airship and welcome to hell, Bowser!
You a pansy, you like the gold showers
Jump trunk with the shrooms and the flowers,
Get the overalls, plumbers got the powers
But overall, Wayne's got the power, now.
I'm no stranger to handing out the truth like a memo
My demo gets blasted outta trunks like Terrorists
In government facilities, military melodies
Catching cats in my tracks like the famous matrix trilogy
You're killing me smalls, you got the balls to call me out?
Don't bring out the sensei of verse
I knock your ass out and collect the purse.

4

One snap, and I'm killin like petroleum.
Killin kiddie cells like Nickelodeon
My fuse is shorter than Napoleon
Patrolin my weight worth of goldium
di di dig those James Brown rhythms,
stick'em, wit'em, put yo' feet in hissy fit'ems.
crack with the vinyl's snares...
Records drop, rhythm's there.
Bare the black tar wheel rotations
of this damn turntable nation!
I bringin' hip-hop's due vocation
And bringin in Rap's due vacation,
We gotta ch-ch-change the station
Cuz all they gonna play is indication
Of Jarule's masturbations
Ricky ticky tavi don't have the patience

5

Now your ego's like a kilogram calorie
Tastes sour like the acid of a battery,
Jon Wayne gonna give you all but flattery.
Hit the deck cuz I'm sprayin' out my rapping spree,
That's what happens when you mess with the Jest.
Pop Quiz, you be failin the test.
Testin for testies, and test for the rest
Intense besting, test for the best
Test for intestines, but you got none
Because you ain't got no shit on me son.
Ego's flying like an eagle on the run
I thought clippin your wings would be fun,
You ain't flyin this time, Coward
I devour your soul, you'll be tortured by the hour
And shower in the blood of the fallen comrades,
If you got the nads.

6
I'm rockin your wild ass like Davie Crockett,
piercing your flow like well-placed sprockets,
and pretty soon you'll be rocking nothing but a cock sock
like a well-tamed bitch for the mainstream.
Stay real or be ass reamed by the force of this hip-hop movement.
I'm outta here cus god be ruthless
He's rooting for the couth, the sleuth, the downright doofus
Who can go dumb and act smart and tell you what the truth is
The truth is you wack, homie, even Atlas couldn't pick up the slack you laggin behind in your chonies, Ain't none of your cronies gonna fuck with me.
Because I be....
Jon Wayne...Garbage Rhymes over Bill Collector's Sonic Schitzophrenia
That's how we do it.