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Artist: Souls of Mischief
Album:  Hiero Oldies Vol. 1
Song:   Batting Practice
Typed by:, *

* Send corrections to the typist

Move over bacon, 'cause the swine is out the picture
Switch the mixture, fix your eyes on the Mister
Twisting necks, fixing bets when I'm cheating
Getting many skins 'cause I been down with Ian (?)
Ever since the clever hits I heard ever(y) word
I used a Louisville Slugger for a sucker
Duck a, little bit faster than the last men
That have been up to Astor Ave., and then
Asking 'bout the Souls of Mischief, beat 'em into the soil 
I'm cooking up your brain, feel the pain (until it boils...) 
Over the ????, you ain't got one to piss in yet
If you've got a question, and it's "Am I dissing?" -- Yep
I can energize if you're -ready like Ever was 
I'm ready as I ever will be, so chill, G
Will the filthy dirty rotten scoundrel step
If he does, then we can beat him to the ground and jet
Most say, I'm the nicest person you'll ever meet
Then fools step, but they slept on my clever treat
One handy bat that's made of light steel
Break a bone or two, and they just might heal back
I want to get a little piece like Reese's
But brothers are mad, because Ad(am) is the feces 
So A-Plus may just play Willie Mays
And you better get wise, until Met really pays 

[Chorus (2x)]
It's like this and-a, it's like that and-a
I've got a Hieroglyphics baseball bat and-a
It's like this and-a, it's like that and-a
I swing a Hieroglyphics baseball bat and-a

There's a crew (?) ???? on my shoulder, can I kill it? 
How can I maintain pain, blame a pan or skillet
That's swung on the misty streets, all in a night's work
Flights worn by you can keep my feet warm too 
Oo, you know _I Gots to Laugh_ like Cas(ual) did
Bad kids are blinking, like "Curses! I'm worsted!" 
Your spidy-sense may tingle
But my swing fills your head with cowbebs, so wake up, sleeper
Slimly constituted yet I boot it and bruise some
And flights just might get a tad bit gruesome
Who's dumb enough to get stuck with the pitchfork?
Rich give me name-brands and main mans call me Mork
'Cause I've got Mindy, to remove your Fendi
Why call the cops, I sacks (sax) them hoes like Ken(ny) G. 
Silhouette's seen, and the next thing's blackness
Attire robbery, or a kick from my Patricks 
Hat tricks, with my hockey stick, or a hole in one
With a golf club and the soft love to run
A gun ruins fun like parents, and a hot one 
Got one kid like me stepping, 'cause a weapon
Should be club-like, but them thugs like to blast
No sweatin', and Tajai can jets in (Jetson) like Astro 
Ask no questions, lessen your cash flow
Fast though (?) the task (?) grows greater, later...

[Chorus (2x)]

Opio is no Pinocchio, I never fib, kid
Dib on your belongings when I'm longing for a new fit
I am quite cunning, never _Running Man_
And I stand with a bat in hand, pants firmly planted in the sand
Step to this, you'll sort of get swung on like a tire swing
Or batted like Babe Ruth, lose a tooth
If you try to bring anger to the wrangler
You'll get strangled if you tangle with the terrible
Bid farewell to jewelery, the same goes for cash flows
Snatch those, catch those greenbacks
Swing bats to dingbats I bring backs to knapsacks
Reggie Jacks(on) can't match the switch-hitter, get a fit or two 
Split a few lips when I flips a pitch like Cy Young, die young
Never ever try (?) one, soul is one that's mischievous
I'll twist your wrist so wisen (?) up (?) 
Did you disrespect a father figure, took (?) your Rolex 
So heads (?) and solar plexus compressed as I flex
Thugs hug my slugs brung from the Phillip Louis
Through the, joint to the point of pressure and then smoothly
Slipped off your valuables, you're mad I pulled another heist
Smothered twice, thrice, I thrash men and mice
My soul lies in my bat, I am one with my Easton 
Once I grip the handle, the vandal is released and
Visions of viciousness are carried out with tactics,
Slapsticks, but never comedy, it's _Batting Practice_

[Chorus (2x)]

Aw shit!  Hieroglyphics be tearing up shit!
Hieroglyphics be tearing up shit! (4x)