cats van bags
I can't scratch, cause I'm drunk
I got bad teeth and my gums are bleeding
Come and fucking get me, motherfucker
Yeah, break, start the song now, fucker
We traveling the missle, weaving through your cornfields
Leaving behind a trail of amateur porn and orange peels
Navagatin' through this basement, that masquerades
As a nation, practising my acetate masturbation
Watching the expressions on the faces
Of them ones designated to be the queens, kings, and aces
How many miles can you put on one sole
Before the smile starts to blend into one big bullet hole
Shoot through it as a unit, with the best of my crew
Bumping melodies and memories too, my head's killing me, ooh
Stomach empty, my bladder is full
Two-year-old son on Jaybird's phone cryin', you missing me
And I'm starving, I'll bite your arm off
Sabertooth Tiger, run the night with the sharp claws
In your backyard just to fuck with your guard dog
Throw a brick through your shit and cut the alarm off
Bitch
Fuck yes, I do my best to take advantage in bouts
With one hand over the mouth, still managin' to shout
There's more said within the lines on your forehead
Than they could ever try to fine-print on the inside of that warhead
Cross country, like a little lost junkie
Make them hot and jumpy, trying to get that God money
Steering the van through the blizzards, the fanfare
Pivot when we visit, spit victim if you stand there
Take a map of this picture, throw a dart at it, that's where
We took a room back full of kids and threw our heart at it
Angry like a hostage, kicking like a little bitch in one of Dibbs's mosh pits
Shifting through your city limits trying to find the raw shit
Thread a needle with it, and weave a world of heads together, till we get 'em car sick
Face full of war paint, strapped, ready for action
Battle cracks heading, trying to seek the satisfaction of the captain
Climbed over the side, closed his eyes
Took a dive into his fame, inspiration for staying alive
Swam to the shore, stepped upon land
Walked up to a whore, grabbed her by the hand
And said
Let the wheels spin, let the road shake
Let the speakers blow
Let the line in, let the kids play
Let the people know
Let the roof burn, let the girls love
Let the heat flow
Let the world turn, let the curtains up
Cats Van Bags, Yo
Lock eyes with a thousand people at the same time
They minds believing this
My style of graffiti is
Squeezing just the midwest sweat out of my shirt
And leaving with my life essence embedded in your dirt
We work, move, and hustle with the rest of the gypsies
Spoon-feed these issues to a new school of fishies
Swimming through a hazy shade of passion
Here they come, the Hazleton has-been, and his chaplain
Yeah, that's them, the migrants, seasonal workers
The finest imperial wordsmiths on the circuit
Two million smiles and runnin', stomping, trying to flee the heat
Turn around, shooting at the monster till his knees are weak
They call me Jesus Freak, I came to listen
Then I save you, then I make you my favorite position
Chasin' this pigeon down the street towards the banks
Just in case my traffic receives jeeps and tanks
And we wander through this soul, so let it be known
Mama I don't know if I'mma ever be home
The revolution won't have any distribution
I love my son and my music so I gotta keep it moving
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