Half-Cocked Concepts

I’m auditioning for Charles Bronson’s part in Death of a Salesman.
Know what I’m sayin’?
I’m takin’ it over.
Gotta give him a big rest in peace, though, right?
In fact, this song’s dedicated to him.
First of all, fuck Bush
That’s all, that’s the end of it
Second, give it up to RSE for hookin’ up a kid
I got the two best, the newest, plus the truest
Doomtree, Rhymesayers Entertainment
[You know the name!]
Reppin’ quality control from your burrows to your borders
Droppin’ hack emcees off of balconies like Tony Rocky Horror
The baby danglin’
Words hanglin’
Hottest masturbatin' off the back of the neck of my soldiers' rhyme and
P.O., you know the dirty one disturbing categories
The matador in black, killin' bullshit allegories
Provide the hurt, these other beastly storing stories make em'
Get up
Get out
Get up
And get shot dead
I spray terms like throw-ups,
I'm 'bout to spit a feelin'
Cuz me and Turbo Nemesis are soon to be arthritic villains
Still instillin' hatred,
Laced with manifesto morals
And our back beat's to beat your heart beat off beat
Let's go
Excuse me
Just turn it on, and leave it runnin'
Nation under the gun and
Nothin' linin' our pockets
We frontin' like Cool Runnings
Somethin' so simple spoken
We wait, but nothin's comin'
Chrome in our fingertips, they eat shit, like faulty plumbin'
Just games for days, busy bees makin' our honey
And skee ball tickets still on count, it's real money
It's somethin' so ridiculous,
Funny, so fuckin' sick of this,
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin' they’re listenin'
Still I'm sittin' skits and laughin' while they’re all missin' this
There's still songs about bitches, from 9/11 witnesses
So here I am in the Middle West
The heart land mo' fucka
Sippin' whole milk mo' fucka
Our nights are colder, right?
Minnesota nights, but our frost-bitten fists
For the smile stings twice so,
Fight or flight
Who gives a damn anyways?
Doesn’t make a fuckin’ difference in these apathetic days
Just lean back, and relax, and tell 'em
Get up
Get out
Get up
And get shot dead
We don't dance, we just pull up our pants, and then we,
Get up
Get out
Get up
And get shot dead
What, you want something like a cake? Want a Guinness or somethin'?
Get up
Get out
Get up
And get shot dead
Somethin' so ridiculous,
Funny, so fuckin' sick of this,
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin' they’re listenin'
You look sick, homie eat a gun
I'ma eat a gun
That’s an allegory
I look tired
It's probably the insomnia
I sleep like Tyler Durdan
Stickin’ feathers in your ass does not make you a chicken
Holler if you hit the ground runnin'
A fool among the scholars
Bumpin' somethin' about clubs, bubs, and hubs
I got a message in a bottle
Written in gas and oil
Signed with a rag and a match
Here, catch!
Slap to rebel yell
The rebels fell, embedded in brick
Ain't no fuckin' marble memorial
For pissed off kids waitin' for desperate shicks
Like Bronson, ain't got enough to flip his face to vigilance again
Once it has been, the fifth amends
Barely our friends, who think about what's up with Jen & Ben
Once it has been
[Get the fuck outta here!]
Let's get out
Just lean back, and relax, and tell 'em
Get up
Get out
Get up
And get shot dead
Put the mo’ fuckin’ fresca down
Get up
Get out
Get up
And get shot dead
Get up
Get out
Get up
And get shot dead
Somethin' so ridiculous,
Funny, so fuckin' sick of this,
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin' they listenin'
Dammit!
Joe, you like fresca?
You’re fired.
Ian, you not gettin’…
You’re fired, too