Eyedea, Carnage The Executioner - Coaches lyrics

We'll have a better game without
You running your mouth



We'll have a better game without
You running your mouth



Hold your damn horses Charlie
This game is ours
So what you a star? That don't make you hard
I'll knock your neck out
That ice you sportin'
I don't need your petty title I'll
Battle you for your vital organs
Autograph 'em with a mean streak
And put 'em on Ebay
If they don't sell in three days then
I put 'em out on the freeway


It's E-Y-Easy in da heezy fo' sheezy
For does that don't know we gon'
Show you how we play
So he can't rap (whatup) step up on they ass
And give these motherfuckers a
Blast from the past

C the Exiddy out of the cut
With some shit that I wrote
With my nigga a-e-d-e-y-e
So you know I must be dope whatup, whatup
Gay nights to a gay rights enslave
Fake dykes and gay types

Who be acting S-K-C-ID
But really S-Y double S-U-P who may bite
Then race by? some play bytes?
I can approve the day slice?
We stay quite insane sequently
Never mundane, differently arranged symphony
Brain quickly creates
Enough data that'll shatter matter at a

Great quakely shake to make shaky
Mindstates break and chain

Vividly badder patterns to smack kids
Castrate wack apes who claiming that

We ain't only playing for this game's victory

Little bitch
I think you should sit this one out
We'll have a better game without
You running your mouth

I got a question any other MC's in the house?

Man, if you rhyme raise your hand
So I know who I'm taking out

Listen player
I think you should sit this one out
We'll have a better game without
You running your mouth

Yo I got a question any
Other MC's in the house?
If you rhyme raise your hand so
I know who I'm taking out

You're under my jurisdiction
Where the purest vision: every
Lyricist winds missing
Wishin' he carried a pistol
It's such a risky tourist visit
Is it a moral issue
If he came to my home claiming to own
The right to show his might
Hold a microphone and recite
That bullshit poem
You ask me he shoulda known we clown clones
And take crowns from fake foes
Who oppose the throne
With a pen and pad I'm bad to the bone
And even better off the dome if you get
Me pissed and push me into that zone
You must have had the Jones
To get your head thrown
Get slapped brand Pakistan
And sent back home with your wack songs
Either right or wrong i'm still real
You're silicon and styrofoam
Might drill a hole inside your skull
And steal ya soul, ya pride ya goals
And anything else valuable
Cause you're an intellectual coward and I'm
An infallible international
Professional styler
Scholar an attitude and I
Don't approve of you

Destroy you who seek joy through
Weak ploy to doubt us
Like we're just part of some
Novices who a b-boy crew
With beepers because we was long before
Signing bitch emcees and hearing
Your blood attach a razor blade
Catheters to their urethras
Reacting with wisdom
Wanna listen to your raps and then diss 'em
You're lacking a rhythm
So I over-load with the proper
Techniques to hit you
I'm cruising til it resembles that of
A homeless motorcycle accident victim
Doodoo dirty who you hurt, me?
You booboo worthy
An immediate cremation, no casket
And your mother? Nothing but a gentle raping
Courtesy of Carnage wearing a soaked
In your haemoglobin FUBU jersey ah ha
Black trash that acts fast
Never having your wack ass
Hysterectomy the apollo song
That clapped all limitless
No hesitance remained at residence
Write a song called
"Fuck Eric B, DJ Abilities is president"
Sucker, I think you should sit this one out
We'll have a better game without
You your running your mouth

Ayo Carnage man, you be bugging man

Yo I'm sure these losers got the point
Why don't we just be out?

Aiiiight

PEACE