Artist: P.O.S. Album: Audition Song: Half-Cocked Concepts Typed by: sensative_new_age_guy@hotmail.com [Verse 1] First of all, push, 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!) Rip the quality control from your burrows to your borders Droppin hot emcee's off balconies like Tony, Rocky Horror The uh, the baby-danglin, words hanglin Hottest masturbatin off the back of the neck of my soldiers' rhyme and 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 down, get up, and get FUCKED UP I spray terms like throw-ups, I'm 'bout to spit a feelin 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! [Verse 2] Excuse me Just turn it on, and leave it runnin Macin, nothin of gunnin 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 on count, it's 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 our frost-bitten fists for the smile stings twice so um, fight or flight Who gives a damn anyways Does it make a fuckin difference in these apathetic names? (I'm done with them) [Chorus] Lean back, just relax, we tell 'em Get up, get down, get up, and get FUCKED UP We don't dance, we just pull up our pants, and then we Get up, get down, get up, and get FUCKED UP (What, you want something like a cake? Want a Guinness or somethin?) Get up, get down, get down, and get FUCKED UP It's somethin so ridiculous Funny, so fuckin sick of this consistent lack of vision from children claimin they listenin [Verse 3] You look sick homie, eat a gun! (that's how it works, haha) I'ma eat a gun, I look tired It's probably the insomnia, I sleep like Tyler Durdan 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 [Chorus] Lean back, and relax, we tell 'em Get up, get down, get up, and get FUCKED UP (Put the ma' fuckin Fresca down) Get up, get down, get up, and get FUCKED UP Get up, get down, get up, and get FUCKED UP It's somethin so ridiculous Funny, so fuckin sick of this consistent lack of vision from children claimin they listenin