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critical mass hysteria - mcabre brothers lyrics

[verse 1: monster under the bed]
i’ll smoke your whole supply, no joke or a lie
you think i’m funny, how? like a f*ckin’ clown?
i’ll joe pesci you and your petty crew then bless the buddha
tryna hit a ten*to*twoer
with beer goggles so big i can see the future and it’s lookin’ bleak
lack a sense of humour, your style does not amuse me
truly, i’m henry hoover when i’m puffin’ blue cheese
on some mothership other sh*t, so f*ck your clique
when i say i rep the cold sag run, hold that tongue
you’re gettin’ way out of line you little toe rag, run
away from me, its plain to see that in a cypher
i be g*d
feel a sense of enlightenment when i’m rhymin’, and the temperature rises
it’s m to o, drippin’ gold, nike tick from head to toe
how you gonna see any dough when he shadowed out
and got the drop on you from the grassy knoll

[hook]x2
too many emcees sound unconvincin’, b*tchin’
pick up your mics and say somethin’
and too many producers loopin’ wack sh*t
the fact is, dig in the crates and make somethin’

[verse 2: lee scott]
i read my hate mail and drain ale
live disgustin’, need another spliff to function at plain sail
dress code * strictly grayscale, plus unpressed clothes
the wrong house, chong ounces stay pale
the spliff i lit’s a great whale picture fit
middle fingers lifted in the air, speak i’ll kick your chair from beneath your feet
you feast your [?], it seems your need for beak
has your label trippin’, play the victim, but f*ck that
i’m cold chillin’, blazin’ izm, wishin’ you’d come back
so we can laugh at you again until the break of dawn
been f*cked since way back in the day before that day i’m raw
i’m blazin’ till my brain’s reformed
super*ganga*fragilistic*expiala dope sh*t
troopin’ past ya as ya buildin, swept your splab and roast it
won’t even let you passive smoke it
i’m too busy neckin’ kegs and snarlin’ to ever beg a pardon
[hook]
too many emcees sound unconvincin’, b*tchin’
pick up your mics and say somethin’
and too many producers loopin’ wack sh*t
the fact is, dig in the crates and make somethin’

[verse 3: king grubb]
first of all, big up, respect to the fam
coz when it comes to cold saggin, blah’s the best in the land
it’s a stick up if i see a bud of cheddar in your hand
on the real, ale * drink from a keg, 100%
of opinions rejected, lazy
but only sit on the fence when sh*ttin’ on heads, daily
f*ck crazy, i’m bouncin’ off the wall and out the court
wherever my brain goes, the tongue chases
king grubb, royal blunt taster
chastiser of the funk fakin’ b*tch emcees in the industry
what does humility mean? and should i give a f*ck?
sittin’ off till my body sticks to the seat
a new disease can be discovered everyday of the week
between my t**th, coz i smoke like trains frequently
straight talkin beef, defeat
i can spill your green on the spot right now and you wouldn’t even see as i leave

- mcabre brothers lyrics

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