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 his black women slaves

to give him dick sucks

and when he bust a nut

he'd laugh and cackle

let the leather whip crackle

send 'em back to pick tobacco

shackled

wouldn't give 'em nil

so his homies stacked bills

fought on flatland and hill

to keep the british out the till, scrill

kept Washington dumpin' 'em in ditches

so slave owning son of a bitches

could keep their riches

which is how the war got funded

with two centuries of juice

from Black slaves bodies

and the profits they produced

you could deduce

that these men might win

fit right in

and make rights then

just for rich white men

so they quit fightin'

and wrote up a declaration

protective decoration

for their business operations

a gorilla pimpin' nation, no freedom - just savage

now the whole world's ravaged

from their hunger for the cabbage

Your fifth period history teacher

tellin' lies like a tweeker

bump this song through the speaker

watch they face get weaker

'less they righteous and they kickin' the facts

they gon' smile cuz this shit is on wax

one thing I gots to ask

George Washington down in hell can you see me?

I'm standin' on your grave

and I'm finsta take a pee-pee!

Tour guide: Excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee?

Boots: Nah, I said I love it here in D.C.

Tour guide: Well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour.

We're here at the Arlington National Cemetary.

Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is

standing,

is the grave of of America's first and greatest hero, our first

president --

Pants unzipping

George Washington

Piss hitting the ground

Ohh, uh-uhhhh.

Cameras click

(Chorus)

Knock knock muthafucka, yes once again

I'll make you pay for your sins

in the trunk o' your Benz

see youse an always fitted

always acquitted

parasitic leech

cain't be burned off my back

wit' no fiery speech

your hands is soft as a peach

cuz you ain't never did work

been rich ever since

your daddy's dick went squirt

have you ever hurt from your back?

ducked from rat-a-tat-tats?

seen your mama on crack?

lived in a pontiac?

drank baby similac

so you could have protein?

(just for enough energy

to hustle up some mo' green?)

I could paint some mo' scenes

vergin' on the obscene

but I'd rather show up at your palace

with a mob scene

I spoke to my accountant

who spoke to my attorney

who counseled my financial advisor

on a gurney

it's about fifty dollars

and that's almost like a sale

cuz it costs too damn much

to let your rich ass inhale

true liberation ain't no word in the head

I'm yellin' murder 'em dead

for some fish, steak and bread

you pay me 10 g's a year,

I pay you fifteen million hun'ed???

Sorry, you just ain't in the budget...

(Chorus