Flushed
[Intro: Pumpkinhead]
Pumpkinhead: Yo
[?]: Doodoo
Pumpkinhead: Yeah, yo
[?]: You doodoo
Pumpkinhead: [?].  Go ‘head.  Poops, PH, FB

[Verse 1: Poops]
Heavily yawn with thoughts.  Emcees play the sideline
Is court cheerleaders to the sport
Just shout my name, all about clout and gain
No man is equal, Poops and God are about the same
Graphic patterns, an unusual form of rapping
On mental, I’m taking over your vessel
On command.  For this shipment, its captain
You’re trapped and no escape (No escape, no escape)

[Verse 2: Pumpkinhead]
My flow entices the crowd and audience, squeezing mics like accordions
The lyrical magician cut each round to half-sized if you chastise
Giving black eyes to Hispanics, Caucasian, and black guys
I rap wise, intelligent.  The melanin skin tone down to the bone
Burning the microphones with hot poems, poetical paralysis
Inflicted on wack lyricists.  It took me exactly
Several minutes to write this rhyme and recite it
This shit is tight like the vagina on a virgin dyke
Niggas be busting their brains and saying nothing.  Wannabe ragamuffin
Acting tough and end up becoming turkey stuffing
‘Cause the shit they was kicking was some hardcore roughneck black TECs on cracked steps
Right by The Coliseum.  I’m underground like a casket
But still on top like a mausoleum
[Hook: Pumpkinhead]
Niggas be talking shit, drop that shit in the toilet
But them kids is wack.  They get flushed (PRB)
Niggas be talking shit, drop shit in the toilet (Tenth Planet)
But them kids is wack.  They get flushed

[Verse 3: Poops]
Curtains are closed.  Emcees who took it backseat before their lies
Their manhood is tooken like they were sodomized
Recognize the prime trained in cyphers, revolve around the 9
When I felt no presence of danger, you had your shot, look
Get caught up in a chamber.  Anger stranger.  No wackness, in fact
Kid, don’t know who that is.  I never saw him before in these lines of mine
I doubt it would ever come around, so visit this rhyme (This rhyme, this rhyme)

[Verse 4: Pumpkinhead]
Lyric droid, Sci-Fi, drinking Mai Tai in Hawai’i
Might I grab the M-I-C, you’d better say, “Bye bye”
I’m out the night sky.  My verses are colorful like tie-dye
That’s why my tracks are not fly—because we skydive
On the real, thought.  And I use that term very gently and I
Step on emcees like Mr. Jefferson did Bentley, and, uh
Don’t miss empty, hollow-headed with the dreaded
Lyric droids schizo, paranoid, fueled by unleaded
Energon, your men are gone like the Pentagon
Your underground intelligence is irrelevant
Why should we let A&Rs at labels label us like evidence?
It’s evident that they want to make dollars and leave us cents
On top of that, you nonsense, corny emcees puppets
Fake nuggets after the first mill in your career hits the bucket
[Hook: Pumpkinhead]
Niggas be talking shit, drop that shit in the toilet
But them kids is wack.  They get flushed
Niggas be talking shit, drop shit in the toilet
But them kids is wack.  They get flushed

[Verse 5: Poops]
In no rush, just bust, destruct in my clutch
To dust, in a touch, punks are crushed to dust
From a man to a gram of sand that’s swept up
You should have kept up.  In this hurdle for simple
Individuals, it was like a cheetah racing a turtle
Never merciful, I feel better hurting your
I’ll work too.  My job is done—and that’s not
Until my sharp skills leave scars on the drums

[Verse 6: Pumpkinhead]
Brothers be mad wack, swearing they got crazy skills
So I make ‘em overdose without the Advil pills
Lyrics rotate in a circular motion like a windmill
360, metamorph like Bill Bixby for gamma rays that kill
Why is it brothers can’t acknowledge my physics?
Is it complex like the animation from Robotech?
I walk in New York streets with the vibe tugging my crotch
One of the pastimes of hip hop
And you don’t stop with metaphor... (Let him stop)
[Outro: Pumpkinhead]
Ha, yo.  Yo, yo.  Mad caca emcees out there and we’re gonna step on you like crap.  Hahahaha.  It’s the lab.  Poops, FB, Pumpkinhead.  Remember, doggie.  Alright, I’m done already (PH, man)