We Da SH - Lee Scott, Illinformed

Chewin' the fat with me mouth open, scopin' the room

Like I’m shroomin' on crack, and eyeballin' you at the back

I haven’t heard you rap and I’m assuming you’re whack

I don’t even drop me brew to attack when I lose it and snap

(Then!) Stop to nonchalantly lob Scooby a snack

The confusion was pre-planned, I sit back calmy

Powder me weak hand, then pimp slap Barbie

And kill Ken, then I smash the pot and bill Ben

Then write about it with a Dodo feather quill pen

At the bottom of the Hill, jacking Jill’s friend

And I’m workin' on a new bible but until then

I’m plannin' to beat Adam into a permanent sleep

And to put Eve to work on the street

As her ruler and saviour

Force-feeding her the forbidden fruits of her labor

So do me a favour, don’t do me a favour

Lee’s the shit, a one man gang givin' the leader lip

There’s no I in team but there’s a me in it

The Bad Meaning Good Samaritan

Pickin' up your filthy habits and lookin' after ‘em

Your whole crew gets smacked with one swing

For sayin the wrong thing, like «this tin foil’s not bling»

Jesus, Mary and Joseph doin' piley-ons

I’m an innovator like The Gonz…

Stood on one foot gettin' head

Smokin' a blunt while I’m rewiring bombs

One for the road, double the dose

Develop telepathy to avoid the bugs in my phone

Emotionless, no lump in my throat

'Less I’m coming through customs, smuggling bundles of coke

You’re uncomfortably close, smart ass

Quit with your wisecracks, or become the butt of the joke

Your soul up for parole, suggests you hold your breath

Or I’ll steal it right from under you nose

White Lotus Sect, came here to pose a threat

Flown the nest with box cutter and explosive vest

Lightsaber glowing red, chew off cobra heads

Overstepped the mark, leave here with broken legs

Hip hop’s vigilante group, hangman’s noose

Slipknot, tamper-proof, motherfucker choke to death

Awoken at the Crack of Doom

Last known address, 412 Ocean Avenue

Creature of the black lagoon, write bars

With a pen and padded room, doing bank jobs in scramble suits

I am absolute, your significance amounts

To a phantom pregnancy in a barren womb

You’re wack, stay sat on the shelf, don’t flatter yourself

You haven’t made a single track that I’ve felt

Steadily getting it in while you’re losing count

Of imaginary notches on your chastity belt