Plunders Of War

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Your Son, Joe / The Beat

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No matter your habit or happenstance
If you happen to take a stance with these fascists
I'll drag your raggedy old bastardly ass across this whole fucking tragedy track
And leave you in the trash with Glad bags and some battery packs
I'm back back, like a dummy who's been here before
Stunning with funny money that's funded through plunders of war
Your Son, Joe, and the key is slipped under the door
An unspoken agreement, like a pimp slipped under a whore
Your Son, Joe, wicked since I was fed through a cord
Listless and mentally bored, distant impending divorce
Discmans invented, before that, I was tending to chores
That was just setting the course, this kid was meant to record
This kid was meant to record
Locked in a bathroom without a pen and just remembering, or
Popping some Method in the deck, getting dismembered with swords
Gone Till November, some D, and yes, Eminem was a tremendous force
But I'm fed up with these Reddit repetitive petty trolls
Indebted to those who said it, instead of Da Vinci Codes
Invented the post-poetic, and vetted the CFOs
And whether or not you get it, I'm better than all these bozos and bros
And even if I haven't been signed, shit, I've been spitting since the kid was knee-high
Shit, I've been spitting since this kid was in a Neon, in a neon shirt
With double B on, before Beyon even be on earth
But I'm on some Survivor shit, like Eminem going dry on a Revival kick
Like many men driving by and popping nine on Fif
Hip hop giant, C-N-Ying, and like Dylan spit fire
And I don't need the wire if the nylon fits
Just like I don't need to buy it, I just try on quick
Just like, I'm a drink a pint and not some five ounce spit
Defiant, one day as a lion, like a fly on shit
It's the one and only, must be lonely, Hyphen been your homie since like Rice-A-Roni
Didn't know that knife was on me
Didn't know that price was only just to know that price was gone be
Out your range, doubt my range, shout out my motherfucking name
It's the one and only, juxtaposing, Hyphen part the poet, right, and part jabroni
Writing prose and farting, only tightest flows
Don't even get me started with these dirty Spartans
CNY and Clinton kid at heart, dig in, pick it apart
It's the one and only, up the nosey, then I start composing
Up and up the nose, and then explode, I'm Boeing
The next episode, in wrecking mode, in leper mode, I'm shedding clothes
In betting mode, 'cause motherfuckers never give me credit, but I'm better though
In a leather coat, with the V for Vendetta goals, I keep, and, or, edit those
Retweet for a better post
The Rocksteady and Bebop of boom bap in Shredder mode
I got Tom Petty and D-Block in two stacks, I'm ready go
Ready go, like a two by four like I'm Hacksaw
Ready go, like a four by four with the axle low
Ready go, in an Uber or in a taxi
Ready go, I got to poop once more, it's the meat snacks, bro
I hope you're enjoying the sixes
Rope your boy in the mix, I'm a token toy with the pigment
I'm overjoyed by your visit, OG from the beginning
Oh jeez, I ain't a gangster, a wank away from a wangster
Finish, finish

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