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the laughing syndrome - poops lyrics

[intro: pumpkinhead]
89 tec 9. you have now entered the zone of the laughing syndrome. but, first up, we got poops. get on the track made by f

[verse 1: poops]
as i commits to spit inside the bk
and enter the melody and feel the music’s energy
and help rap listeners mentally like psychotherapy
lyrics hit like a magnum, [devils head-blown, was never sold, but still, b, we’re flat?]
rip the formulated, a way to create bombs without splitting an atom. this is too potent
for any antidote, it’s hopeless. this comp be comatose with
just one dosage of your pure uncut dope, kid
this rhyme wasn’t researched, rehe-rs-d or memorized
f just played the beat. me and ph came fresh out of the mind
didn’t concentrate and wrote a couple of lines
and obsolete your features through the speakers
while you niggas sit down and bug, my brain cells sending niggas smoking a whole plantation of cheeba
this is sheriff subdue in charge—yo, watch the spectacle
i’m so large, the fools only could see me through an aerial view
89.9 is where this is being transmitted through

[interlude: pumpkinhead]
yeah. the laughing syndrome. check it out. pumpkinhead is up next

[verse 2: pumpkinhead]
back to represent, repent lyricists get bent
like tracks on trainsets. my brain bent, flow hostility
[broken combs?] the trilogy. the plague on the side to be
we the mcs [?], sent me and see the golden gates of
g-o-d. that’s how it goes. we flows
dirty like hudson river h2o in cyphers that’s 3-6-0 ratio
don’t play me, yo. got hardcore soul
for the brothers on the corner playing cee-lo. i be low
like the thought of a jell-o flipped like the game pieces of othello, fellow
i be the mellow, yellow like, “hello.” i pack more joints than an elbow
or kneecap. i be fat—not in calories but in these raps
cause heart attacks on tracks, so if you sleep, you’re bound to catch a relapse
pumpkinhead and poops, we style over fat loops
stomps with antigravity, titanium timberland boots
so who dare enter the lair of despair
where transformations turned your recliner into an electric chair?

[outro: pumpkinhead and (poops)]
(oh my god. what’s happening?). yeah. what? poops, f, and ph in the laboratory. or should i say, “la-bor-a-tory?” hahahahahahaha. the laughing syndrome. 89 tec 9, with stretch and bob. peace

- poops lyrics

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