That Kinda Week

I’ll start this off by saying my next records probly never dropping
just to tempt fate in case the trendy kids are watching
I don’t wanna box it into the best thing that never was
the let down of the year, here it is, hit the drums

Midwest, Bassed out, the bastard sons of rock and roll
fucking nasty on the cut like doing triple shots of Skol
as long as the barman can keep the pour steady
we raw and ready, self production coming heavy, it’s on
I spit like a cancer survivor, this the kemo
lyrical therapy buried deep inside the stylo
With a burn of the sick, lyrics legit or counterfeit
tricks to trick y’all into thinking that I really give a shit
but I don’t, these poem are just to keep it clean, yo
Razorblade salvation for my Rage Against Machine flow
Living the dream since sixteen, I kick it for the love
while I’m picking pieces of my life up out the dust
My girl left me, about a week or so ago
now I’m trying to stay cool and amputate the soul
Confusion is the state and the bills are running late
but I ain’t mad about it really, I just chock it up to fate
and let it go…

I keep my mind tightrolled, wrapped up in rubber bands
unless I got some fucking whiskey then I knock some fucking jams
They say music soothes that savage beast, well maybe
personally I’m from the school of rock and roll like ray davies
Meaning, I speak my mind with the rhyme and have a time
loose lips, piss and vinegar, lets run it down the line
It’s what I got, GOT, cool, now throw a shot down
it’s a holy war, man, I’m keeping God from coming round
Never been pretty as such, I never fucked a perfect girl
I’m just trying to set fire to ya perfect fucking world
Lacing joints with profanity whenever making statements
cuz I could give a fuck less if radio stations play this
On the playlist of ya iPod touch or car tuner
to me, this music’s stupid like consumers
Or chicas milling rumor, hearts infected with tumors
it’s 2012, I wish the end was coming sooner
This the end of my rope, ain’t no punch to the joke
a slow suicide, fuck it, like the reason I smoke
But that’s the reason I’m dope, every line is my last breath
and I come across honest when I’m spitting this rap text
Stumbled in with the spins, spit smelling of Pabst Blue
Kick the Cobaine cure, that’s who I’m tipping my cap to
the reason I rap dude, fuck you and Labat Blue
it’s been that kinda week, man music to crash to

It’s been that kinda week, man, you know what I mean
where ya ex-girlfriend keeps on haunting ya dreams
It’s been that kinda weak man you know how I feel
Cuz on the real to real, I’m just trying to deal
It’s been that kinda week, man, you know what I mean
where ya ex-girlfriend keeps on haunting ya dreams
It’s been that kinda weak man you already know
So lets do something cool, and keep a piece of my soul

Let it go…
Let it go…
Let it go…
Let her go…