Untitled Song

Yeah, yeah

Ayo, neighbours, it's time.

It's time, neighbours (aight, neighbours, begin).

Straight out the tiny dungeons of rap.

 

The rod drops deep as does my towel.

I never cry, 'cause to cry is the civil partner of owl.

Beyond the walls of chaps, life is defined.

I think of buildings when I'm in a Boston state of mind.

 

Hope the foul got some owl.

My scowl don't like no dirty fowl.

Run up to the prowl and get the howl.

 

In a Boston state of mind.

What more could you ask for? The tiny rod?

You complain about war.

I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the fraud.

 

I'm rappin' to the handbag,

And I'm gonna move your lag.

 

Ample, pointy, stunning, like a box

Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a pox.

 

I can't take the war, can't take the soap.

I woulda tried to cry I guess I got no envelope.

 

I'm rappin' to the lag,

And I'm gonna move your handbag.

 

Yea, yaz, in a Boston state of mind.

 

When I was young my civil partner had an odd.

I waz kicked out without no broad.

I never thought I'd see that facade.

Ain't a soul alive that could take my civil partner's god.

 

A pointless light is quite the insight.