Constipated Monkey
(Wow, man...)
The fuck was that, man? That shit blew my head, man.

Hey, where's my guns?
Hey... hey-hey-hey-hey [?]
Man... where's my guns?
(Man, I don't know, man.)

So like...
You know that...
You the baddest motherfucker in the world.
You know this.
And there's this bar with the swinging doors,
And you bust on through 'cause you bad.
And behind the bar is the merchant,
With the liquefied bottles of liquefied dreams.
And you place yourself a dollar on the counter and order up a taste.
So you perch against the stool, and drink it on down.
You rappin' to the bitches, and everything's cool.

But you know they don't really get it.
'Cause you know down deep in the pit of your heart
That you's a fugitive from justice and you're runnin' from the law
And you're too scared to scream for fear the sound might kill ya!
So you sit up at the counter
Like a constipated monkey.
'Stare into an empty bottle
Lookin' for God.

Hey [?], where's my guns?
(I don't know, man.)