P.O.S. - Half-Cocked Concepts lyrics

I'm auditioning for Charles Bronson's
Part in Deathwish VI
You know what I'm saying?
(I'm taking it over)
We've gotta give him a big
Rest in peace though, right?
In fact this one's dedicated to him

First of all, fuck Bush that's all
That's the end of it
Second, give it up to RSE
For hookin' up a kid i got the two best
The newest plus the truest
Doomtree, Rhymesayers Entertainment
(you know the name)
Bred for quality control from your
Boroughs to your borders
Dropping hack emcee's off balconies
Like Tony Rocky Horror
The uh, the baby danglin, words hanglin
Hottest snatch the band-aid off the
Neck of Marsellus Wallace
PO, you know the dirty
One disturbing categories
The matador in black
Killin bullshit allegories provide the hurt
These other beastly storing stories make em'
Get up, get up, get up
And get something done!
I spray terms like throw-ups
I'm 'bout to spit a fill-in
Cos me and Turbo Nemesis are
Soon to be arthritic villains
Still instillin hatred
Laced with manifesto modes
And our back beat's to beat
Your heart beat off beat, let's go!

Excuse me
Just turn it on, and leave it runnin
Nation under the gun and
Nothin linin our pockets
We frontin like Cool Runnings
Somethin so simple sparkin, we wait
But nothin's comin
Chrome in our fingertips, they eat shit
Like faulty plumbin just games for days
Busy bees makin our honey
And skee ball tickets still don't
Count as real money
It's somethin so ridiculous
Funny, so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from
Children claimin they listenin
Still I'm sittin skit's and laughin
While they all missin this
There's still songs about bitches, from 9
11 witnesses (ha ha)
So here I am in the Middle West
The heart land ma' fucka
Sippin whole milk ma'fucka
Our nights are colder right? Minnesota nice
But a frost-bit fist with a
Smile stings twice so um, fight or flight
Who gives a damn anyways
Does it make a fuckin difference
In these apathetic days?
(I'm done with them)

Lean back, just relax, we tell 'em
Get up, get up, get up
And get something done
We don't dance, we just pull up our pants
And then we get up, get up, get up
And get something done
(What, you want something like a cake?
Want a Guinness or somethin?)
Get up, get up, get up
And get something done
It's somethin so ridiculous
Funny, so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from
Children claimin they listenin

You look sick homie, eat a gun!
(that's terrible, haha)
I'mma eat a gun, I look tired
It's probably the insomnia
I sleep like Tyler Durden
Stickin' feathers in your ass does
Not make you a chicken
Holla if you hit the bottom runnin'
A fool among the scholars
Bumpin somethin about clubs, bubs, and hubs
I got a message in a bottle
Written in gas and oil
Signed with a rag and a match, here - catch
Slap to rebel yell
The rebels fell, embedded in brick
Ain't no fuckin marble memorial
For pissed-off kids waitin for Death Wish VI
Like Bronson, ain't got enough to flip his
Face to vigilance again
Once it has been, the victim mends
Barely our friends who think about what's
Up with Jen and Ben you think it's been?
(I think we should put up
In thisfuck outta here) let's get out

Lean back, and relax, we tell 'em
Get up, get up, get up
And get something done
(Put the ma' fuckin Fresca down)
Get up, get up, get up
And get something done
(Damn it! What the fuck?)
Get up, get up, get up
And get something done
It's somethin so ridiculous
Funny, so fuckin sick of this
Consistent lack of vision from
Children claimin they listenin

God damn it!
Yo, do you like Fresca? You're fired
You're not getting pai-, You're fired too
Studio Do you wanna

Sick- Sick of the news
So give the brain a rest cut the MPR
And sing along to the soviets -ets