Masters of Illusion - Back Up Kid lyrics
[Masters of Illusion - Back Up Kid lyrics]
The electricity shall now be
Passed through your body
Until you are dead sounds
Of an electric chair
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power watts
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power watts
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power
You on my pubic, I tell you kid
That's on my testicles
I slice that style up like
Big bowls of vegetables
You know I'm legend though you
Clown man sniff and blow
I got the big stage
No props for yo' small show
I light your anus up
Pee upon your whole spectrum
Then damage all butt with missiles
To your girl's rectum no matter how where
With activator on your hair
You could be weaved up
Toes to your sleeve up
ADAT's work you got static, turn your Neve up
You on 4 track, tic tac
I still wipe buttcrack
Battle me now your cornflake style
Chocolate cow
You no test catnip slob runnin down your vest
Master of what, your kitty styles all butt
Incest, you settle for less
Yo lick my wee-wee
Your sister tried to watch me pee-pee
On New Year's, panties down
Drunk drinkin beers
You get axed up, records get faxed up
Your booty get torn your heiny's all waxed up
I see MC's waste time and vinyl
Your point is final
You trapped in the cage and now
Pregnant by a green rhino
Lubriderm is bond the cage it's still Octagon
Your girl in tights, panties made of chiffon
Like Ted Bundy and Kemper
I burn your wig this winter
No matter how hard you are
I still paint that back
Then draw some pictures of Space
Ghost on yo' asscrack with Scooby Doo
Fred and Wilma watchin Dino doo doo
Your style is no flake
Them beige boots are kinda weak
You suck nuts and lick my
Balls everytime I speak you at the Apollo
You wack easy act to follow
You get no props
For skirts suckin Charms pops
You on my penis
Still wearin shell-toe Adidas
I'm in your building
Like paint chips off your ceiling
Fake face, yo pack up, start watchin Scarface
I strike your tour bus
Catch you naked smokin dust
Rip your papers at halftime
Your rented rhymes are rust
You got no wins, for crabs in your used Benz
Extra mic stands for Taco
Bell burns yo' friends
Louisiana Hot Sauce, tops your anus boss
Gorilla Magilla, "He's in the window!"
Your style is for sale
Sperm drippin off your pillow
"back" - scratched before end
Passed through your body
Until you are dead sounds
Of an electric chair
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power watts
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power watts
Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power
You on my pubic, I tell you kid
That's on my testicles
I slice that style up like
Big bowls of vegetables
You know I'm legend though you
Clown man sniff and blow
I got the big stage
No props for yo' small show
I light your anus up
Pee upon your whole spectrum
Then damage all butt with missiles
To your girl's rectum no matter how where
With activator on your hair
You could be weaved up
Toes to your sleeve up
ADAT's work you got static, turn your Neve up
You on 4 track, tic tac
I still wipe buttcrack
Battle me now your cornflake style
Chocolate cow
You no test catnip slob runnin down your vest
Master of what, your kitty styles all butt
Incest, you settle for less
Yo lick my wee-wee
Your sister tried to watch me pee-pee
On New Year's, panties down
Drunk drinkin beers
You get axed up, records get faxed up
Your booty get torn your heiny's all waxed up
I see MC's waste time and vinyl
Your point is final
You trapped in the cage and now
Pregnant by a green rhino
Lubriderm is bond the cage it's still Octagon
Your girl in tights, panties made of chiffon
Like Ted Bundy and Kemper
I burn your wig this winter
No matter how hard you are
I still paint that back
Then draw some pictures of Space
Ghost on yo' asscrack with Scooby Doo
Fred and Wilma watchin Dino doo doo
Your style is no flake
Them beige boots are kinda weak
You suck nuts and lick my
Balls everytime I speak you at the Apollo
You wack easy act to follow
You get no props
For skirts suckin Charms pops
You on my penis
Still wearin shell-toe Adidas
I'm in your building
Like paint chips off your ceiling
Fake face, yo pack up, start watchin Scarface
I strike your tour bus
Catch you naked smokin dust
Rip your papers at halftime
Your rented rhymes are rust
You got no wins, for crabs in your used Benz
Extra mic stands for Taco
Bell burns yo' friends
Louisiana Hot Sauce, tops your anus boss
Gorilla Magilla, "He's in the window!"
Your style is for sale
Sperm drippin off your pillow
"back" - scratched before end