border crossing – the alias lyrics
[intro]
woo!
aha, what!
yeah, yeah!
“ok, bring the microphone down”
j-star, j-star
yo
[verse 1]
with a lopsided grin
the cowboy with the crooked dentures
and a saddlebag of storybook adventures
the desperado
in deep sp-ce desolation
the head toucher take your skull home as decoration
to my people a dedication
for the evil that’s penetrating brains it’s medication
by the easel i’m steady painting
got rowdy crowds ready and waiting for the unveiling
of each masterpiece
but a&rs are fast sleep
(that’s just the same as it’s ever been!)
spark the trees
i’m in the pharmacy meddling
mad dog menace
and i’m peddling medicine
in generous measurements
mixing mescaline metaphors
a force more masculine
than mexican matadors
grabbing the bull by the h-rns
i manifest in various forms
i used to live in university dorms
burning with towels under the doors
a mouse under the floorboards (eek!)
bagging up draw
tagging up walls
no time for arrogant fools
i’m like atlantis
you’re shallow like paddling pools
[chorus, asaviour]
it’s the sound of the well-known
billy brimstone!
it’s the high plains drifter
bringing it home!
with a bag full of tricks
spitting [?] poems!
on the microphone
better leave it alone!
[verse 2]
in the fast lane mate
i make you slam on your brakes (slow down)
if you’re fake like taliban with ham on their plates
the heavy hand big foot stamp on these champagne snakes
the weight’ll make the landscape shake
verbal earthquake when my verse take shape
on beat breaks
parasites bite ’til their t–th ache
you need fillings
please
leave me billing trees
i don’t go on tour
i go on k!lling sprees
i spray hollow tip similes
sick like syphilis
my images spark photosynthesis
soak up the light i radiate
while i ride the gravy train
blazing high grade with a hazy brain
[chorus, asaviour]
it’s the sound of the well-known
billy brimstone!
it’s the high plains drifter
bringing it home!
with a bag full of tricks
spitting [?] poems!
on the microphone
better leave it alone!
[verse 3]
it’s the sp-ce cowboy
i drink whisky with george jetson
j-star, mercenary by profession
machete blades cut through the tension
i terrorise henchmen
many can’t stand the suspension
my pen scribs cliffhangers
you’re sh-tting bricks when i spit grammar
i grip mics like thor when he grips hammer
travel the desert in a hot sun
sp-ce cadillac, boba fett rides shotgun
bunning ’til the crop’s done
running rampant
the anthem
i walk through the jungle with the phantom now
you’re not ready for the champion sound
they throw flowers at my feet while i stand and bow
[chorus, asaviour]
it’s the sound of the well-known
billy brimstone!
it’s the high plains drifter
bringing it home!
with a bag full of tricks
spitting [?] poems!
on the microphone
better leave it alone!
[outro, scratching]
mad cow disease up in this place
we need inoculation right now
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