(Chorus)

Uhhhh!!

I wanna piss on your grave!

make me feel alright!

Yaa Yaa Yaa!!

(Repeat)



While you was eatin'

T-bone steaks

in palatial estates,

ornate with gates that automate

so those you hate could only spectate,

I was kissing my mate

through iron grates

while the guards wait,

50 cent rate for making license plates.

My papermate pen shakes

vibrates from 808 quakes

over breaks

dug outta crates

that sag from weight

of the vinyl plates...

girls work till they back ache

and their breasts con't lactate

you're laughin' to the bank

smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes

contesting, contesting 1,2,3

never shoulda been put in the penitentiary

Boots from The Coup would like to say

I'll shove these foodstamps down your throat

just to block your airway

and that's the fair way 'cuz everyday

you're on a moola mission

military killin' millions 'til you low on ammunition

bodies beyond recognition

twisted complex positions

then their kids work in your factories

and die of malnutrition

see your net profit stats

hold some murderous facts

but if you listen to the news you mighta

heard it was blacks

you got us herded in shacks

I got the pertinent tax

how 'bout the one for when I bust my ass

and you relax

I'll hit your head wit an axe

play soccer wit' your brain

to make it official

slice your jugular vein

still writin' songs that my momma could sang

and if you feel some yellow drips on your skull

it ain't rain.



(Chorus)

That bitch ass on the front of a buck

never gave a fuck

he forced hi