The Palmer Squares - MC Showcase 2011 lyrics

[Verse 1: Terminal Knowledge] I've been the dapper don since I put my Pampers on Vagabond, splashin' ether on a fabric cloth Zoned out, foam at the mouth like a rabid dog I bury bodies in my lawn at the crack of dawn The rock up my nostril caked I travel into outer-space just to drop at a colossal rate Jostling, lost I've gone astray Term K refuse to walk away until the profit's made Not a prophet, I'm the second coming Next to nothing in my pocket, I'm just pressing bu*tons The commander, general, bag full of chemicals Pusher man distributin' scag cut with fentanyl Xanax, demerol, tablets of methadone Lab rat packaging anthrax in envelopes Matches and tennis balls wrapped with electrical Blasted I'm trashed with my hands on my genitals Bothered and hot, gon' and squandered the pot A downtrodden prima donna on a bottomless drop I personify the clowns and the clods Gettin' bombed with the squad Honest to God like Islamic Jihad Yo, the kids need violence, to live means dyin' Open up the gates sound the Blitzkrieg sirens The ruthless, baby face spittin' 'til he's toothless Introducin' 2-bit rappers to my boot tip A fortified design of the mortified and blind I ain't suicidal, it just sorta crossed my mind Days draped in misery, space wasted blithering Hate shapes the industry while slaves pay the bigger fee Maintain the greed, what a wave made in history Generation rage and we placate it pitifully Palmer Squares be that devilish enemy Reach for the mic and leave with severed extremities An excellent remedy for pestilent energy Festering chemically, dextroamphetamines Mental telepathy, magic mind I was sent to collectively leave my battle cry echoing endlessly No sight, just panoramic glimpses of abandoned ships Living life sans companionship I'm accurate, Term K ga**in' motherf**ers like a flatulence Haters need to oil up the catchers' mitt, it's laughable Playin' Whac-A-Mole the way I'm crackin' skulls Little ones with ductape on the mandible Seein' red, my whole life's a bull-fight In full flight I'll pierce your skin with a road spike I'll pierce your skin with a dull knife I'm sharp in the mind, poison IVs and artery lines Raw spit from a mouth full of tartar and grime Right now I'm gon' pa** it to my partner in crime [Verse 2: Acumental] Yo, these dapper literati Fill palaver with their folly Other hobbies include packin' cadavers in Jalopys We dippin' mali as we're practicing karate While y'all rappers in the closet like that f*ggot Liberace Yo the show's over, third act, double encore Wrath of a God, wingspan of a condor From the helipad to the ground floor It's going down, you should follow Term and Ac if you want more (You want more?) Want more? I thought you might, the Andy Kaufman type cat With a splash of Walter White I k** verses, spit heat 'til the milk curdles Makin' sow ears into silk purses Curses! I'm certain that nothing can phase me Acumental leave your squad runnin' for safety Yo I'm like, John W Gacy Got a club in the basement where the bodies rot under a blanket See I'm f**in' insane kid, hellbent Angry as twelve men Spot me at the Cumberland station on the L train Poppin' adapin to fight depression Peerin' in the mirror shoutin', "Candyman" in my reflection To send a vital message out to all of y'all h*mo sapiens Waterfalls, don't go chasin' 'em Stick to your rivers and lakes And don't swim in the first place Just make a d**h wish on your birthday Cause you'll find my name farthest up the roster Yo the parlance I be droppin' hot enough to strip the varnish off a locker We harness all the power imaginable and tower You amateur flow impostor starring opposite Madeleine Stowe Two perilous dudes kickin' true narratives Shut you down, Lou Gehrig sh**, whoop there it is! My crew rarely gets enough exposure Too much time spent loungin' in the lion's den puffin' dosha Marijuana sharecroppin' Nature boy, make some noise before I run up and Flair Chop ya Smack like dab in the middle Yo we jumpin' over the moon without the cat or the fiddle I twist the gra** and flip the cap on my zippo Then I elevate the flame to a fat cigarillo This sh** is nothing more than some raps that I scribble Cause I found my true colors in a bag full of Skittles You won't see me drive past in a foreign car You'll see me workin' hard tryin' to find some R&R But still I'm ill with a capital 'I' Keepin' it live like Saturday Night, grabbin' the mic Cause I'd rather be livin' in darkness than Dyin' in the light, overexposed tryin' to win the fight So I tie my sh** up tight and hop back into the shade Where you can rest a**ured another track is gettin' made Like, hey yo Wax, you wanna play? Cause guess what dog, I'm pa**in' it your way Palm Squares, Chi city