Swollen Members, DJ Makeway - Jackson Pollock lyrics

The gig is in the center of downtown Austin
In a not very soundproof tent
Unfortunately for us
The not very soundproof
Canadian tent is right next door
And we've been scheduled to
Perform at exactly the same
Time as Canadian musicians
The Swollen Members

Yo, my name is Madchild
I pack a fuckin' wallop i'm makin' songs
Doing shows enough to pack my wallet
Makin' stacks, makin' racks
I'm a rap-a-holic
Speadin' color all around like
I was Jackson Pollock
I'm from Swollen Members kid
Every track is solid
Line us up against your shit
You'll get your track demolished
Cause rappers hear my shit
They need some aspirin
You know they hear my shit
It make em look like they're a has-been
That's the concepts I'm
Havin' problems graspin'
Colder than Alaska, from Jasper to Aspen
Old as fuck and my voice is kind of raspy
In this shit for life
You don't have to bother asking
I'm kinda crazy
That's the key to my devotion makin' songs
Reflectin' while I deal with my emotions
I'm like an onion
You gon' have to peel the layers
A silverback gorilla swingin'
On the chandeliers never sounded iller
I've been killin' it for years
Dealin' with my fears
Head, feelin' like it's clear
I'm venomous with these words
A minimalist that hordes
My den is a twisted world
My pen is a mystic sword

We're live sucka rappers are in danger
I get a rush when I bust
Hardcore rap music that make your ears ring

Pressure barrel metric electric
I'll overload the spectrum
Locomotive freight train
I'm trained to look in both directions
Hazard signs flashing red lights
Blazing air horns rare forms
Intelligent life buried in rose thorns
Cold storms forming on this westerly coast
We destiny's most your head's on a post
The specter of ghosts
Floatin' apparition, my position you loathe
There's more fear than Las Vegas
When the vagabonds rose
Roundin' Russian roulette with all
The henchmen you sent
I ran out of room in the tomb
Some are stuffed in the vent
And now it's colder and lower
As the temperature plummets
You're frostbitten and the famine's got
You holdin' your stomach
No need to numb when I chill it
Will it be red when I spill it?
Probably, honestly
And maybe a little more than acidic
It's like the Chronicles of Riddick
When it goes pitch black
I'm BAX WAR till the day I
Die and won't switch back, come on