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exiled in the badlands - e.r.k. the red lyrics

[intro]
yo, yo, yo
1-4-8, 3 to the 3 to the 6 to the 9
representing the abq
what up beyotch?
leave it at the tone

[verse 1: e.r.k. the red]
i monkey flip mc’s like the paul franks
htting blunts fat as keenan off of all that
hate these dumb sk-nks; all y’all wanna do is torch my dank
get hammered like hank with a bit of frank in their tank
then her mind goes blank, yeah that happens all the time
can’t say big e agrees – never hard to spit a line
and i’m usually in the sky, or call me king kai
the kong of bongs, hi-si’s from high tides
kid with a lisp who’s hitting spliffs of crips to get ’em nice and crisp
your boy will get lifted like some john legend sh-t
more like john lennon, sh-t; imagine days in my life
spitting my science, crushing bill nye with all of these rhymes
but i ain’t into gangs’ bangings or banging in gangs
i’m too blazed to k!ll these dudes, dude – i do my own thang
phrases of fraizer, more like kelsey with the grammar
punch lines got a bit of witty britty office banter
enchantor of candor combating m-sses of slander
saying i ain’t the answer or g-yer than cousin jasper
well, i’m enamored – jerkin’ dancers look like they some f-cking flappers
all y’all care about is swag and glamour – rhymes don’t even matter
and fact of matter i’ll fracture any mc with a hammer
damage ’em, or got’cha grandma runnin’ to my mannor
“sorry to badger, but please, excuse the boys manner
he don’t understand your manner; never met a man of stature
and valor” rather than clamor, let her in in a dapper matter
hashed the beef, literally, with some much needed laughter
d-ck dastardly, strictly the sickest b-st-rd
with quicksand flows, man, this n-gga spits faster
than bullet trains or bullets sprayed upside the dome piece
no heat when i roam streets – please, i’m not that lonely
stare boldly into the eyes of the dopes trying to smoke me
before i go ghost, tell your h0m- -ss to blow me
bang-bang, i’m dead, back to that old dusty trail
where at least i have an -rs-nal of perils to revel
112 on the highway to h-ll home, pedal to the metal
dead men don’t tell tales well? i’m just waiting to exhale
well, when you see the big e in your realm
slaughtering – i’m the cat-f-cking-k!ller
meanest n-gga

[verse 2: ridicholas]
lines might not yet but soon they’ll be the truth
a hater bugging me, i stomp on them and eat the beetlejuice
sell tickets galore, i bring the thunder hard and heat, i’m zeus
and in a year or two, i’ll quickly appear in the lead like poof
you could be white as harcha, still flow with the fire sparky
i’ll be at the top of this rapping plot of hierarchy
rare as tigers barking
said i’m as hard to find as car keys to a blind, disorganized, and un-cautious busybody
skin of ozzy
not even ziggy marley or billy cosby’s
i shoot, pull the rhyme trigger on these foul foes like nowitzki n-z-s
run in circles in the octagon and master trigonometry
so shape up
mr. nick the early bird leaving your chirping slurred
when i promise dominance, honest i keep a st-rdy word
you’re absurd and spit equivalent to nicky spurting t-rds
noggin of a nerdy nerd, jotting like a murderer
a hispanic teen could be the best rapper, ain’t it the truth?
after all the tallest basketball player’s name was manut
so when i’m playing this game, beating the boss, and gaining the loot
the lame brains of haters flatten and flatulate: cranium poots
spitting a serenade of sweet rapping carrot cake
and marinate it with figurative language to fill the barren sp-ces
i can see usher from here, african-american sarah palin
you’re fruity as pears and grapes
i’m too bananas for a pair of apes
it’s beautiflow
the lyrics levitate in barrel shapes and blast with the beat that’s making hibernating bears awaken
the fans can barely bear to wait for joker’s terror rage that tears the hate or barricades it while i’m hater-larynx shanking
when i wear the cape and tights and me and peril mate
the rhymes are brighter than egyptians
give in for the pharaoh’s sake, it’s
joke dosky, i don’t curse

[outro]
where’s my money, b-tch?
b-tch, where’s my money, b-tch?
b-tch, where’s my money? (ridicholas: b-tch!)
where’s my money, b-tch?
your imbecility being what it is i should have known to say:
“jesse, don’t leave the keys in the ignition the entire two days!”
i wanted to leave them on the counter
b-tch!

- e r k the red lyrics

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