swollen members – park bench lyrics
[verse 1 :madchild]
red line, razor blade gang, i’m an outlaw
crack jaw, you won’t see it coming hit you south paw
torch the village cause they’re really very hokey
k!llin’ all the villagers and spit like karaoke
used to treat me like a trophy
then things got low key, i was dopey
now n0body even know me
and just because i’m doing good again don’t mean you know me
trust me, i am not the old me
and i cannot remember one thing that you told me
relationship is stale, it is moldy
i’m fresh now a cl-ssic, like great golden oldies
not a mack like goldie
never wack, i attack so boldly
sh-t is crazy, life is like a blur
i could be a psycho but it’s not what i prefer
new king, cinderella no gl-ss slipper
no black leather act for the wack stripper
madchild lyrically i’m an -ss kicker
not a -ss kisser, i’m a practicer
that’s where a lot differ and i’m a lot different
without a pot to p-ss in but i am not tripping
cause see the clock and the clock’s ticking
badman, i’m a rude boy, shot l!ckin’
i mean no, i made no deal with them bowcat
had to leave awhile and stop doing opiates
stomp on a white boy, smash on a halfbreed
i don’t give a f-ck when i rap, i am baffling
[verse 2 :madchild]
yo dogs are good, most people suck
i’ll probably grow up to be an old evil f-ck
sitting on a park bench, cane and a cardigan
thinkin’ of the days back when shane he was partyin’
and soon i’ll be an artifact
seemed like yesterday i was picking up a party pack (ha)
now i’m worried about a heart-attack
still child-like, amax and a starter cap
you can’t cheat father time
just be thankful i’m happy, i’ve had harder times
things that i like, they are mad hard to find
i’m a sn0b, do my job, i’m a master of rhymes
i’m a b-st-rd to some, to the rest sh-t is good
main fear? not to do the best that i could
not give it all i got, but still could do better
decade and a half, group still we’re together
still birds of a feather
still dope beats, ill words put together
hip-hop saved me twice, that’s a true fact
i still love checkin’ for f-cking tough records
used to have a pistol in my hand
now i want blue skies, seeing crystal in the sand
i’m getting old, call me mister i’m the man
still cold, still official as the plan motherf-cker
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