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forty psychic frames - gold rush lyrics

scurvy d:
pack a bowl of weed, yo
pack it up for me
pack it up for forty frames, it’s our density
carolina playas with h-lla f-cking cheese
get a peep of it when you get a peep of deez…
nuts!
kick it on the mic b-tch
kick it on the ‘net
one kick from 40pf will break your neck chet
got to check the roster to see who’s up on deck
guaranteed, yo, to make you f-cking sweat
three, five, all seven when we rhyme
like buddha so sublime, we’ll elevate your mind
primed design, the best you’ll ever find
it’ll get your mind right
like you was puffing on some kine

forrest:
and you know this, point poignant like a forgotten kiss
lingering and visceral
this art is a transcendental flow
like cyrano de bergerac, got lines that you lack
pump up the track, deliver rhyme with a rap attack
all my homies are allied and they got my back
even distances luna to sol, no toll to uphold
coal into diamond and we like midas turning dust into gold
it’s foretold, we the psychic frames and we multiply forty fold
picking up shots, we hot
rock
always aiming to break the mold

wyatt:
showered in the blood of the ghost of the king
clothes drying on the clothes line now here the ring of the church
bell ding
corpses’ buzzing in a business of flies they were the cousins
brothers, uncles, and aunts who breathed in their last breath
their skins melted off their bone, “death to the queen” posters
flown
now hanging in tatters from brown telephone poles
vitreous humor jelly spread across the bellies
of the bodies been dragged for miles. get ready
for that last gust of wind to steadily blast the flames forward
and melt down the town an unending horror
let’s hope the smoke chokes the throat of the ghost
of the king
let’s drink, let’s sing, let’s set fire to this whole f-cking thing
there’s no telling what else we’ve come to bring

anthony:
i ain’t a bad person, that’s just how y’all make me feel
you be pressing the wrong b-ttons and you wind up getting k!lled
hang up the mic, tie the cord around my neck, kick the stool and
watch my feet kind of jiggle around for a bit
not cool?, i’m sorry. i’ll stay on topic of this “thug sh-t”
this one’s for the fans and for the mother f-ckers who love it:
“holla back now, beeya beeya, p-ssy, t-tties, p-ssy, b-tch.”
cut that sh-t up, use it for a club banger remix, i’m leaving

- forty psychic frames lyrics

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