Rambles in Shambles

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Shaggy the Magic Scum

3:34

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Batshit fans demand an encore tape
Saying that shit's my jam like concord grape
The masses need trained y'alls are pawns or ya apes
I fashion y'alls brains 'til they contour to shape
Blasting y'alls bass like the ear rape version
Lotta folk say it's fucked up like perversion
Lotta blokes f*ck up the beat like a virgin
All jokes, they can suck my nuts like it's urgent

Scum's on a roll when he roll with his mans
Keeps his wits about him case shit hits the fan
Not a damn thing prevents the Scum's evil plans
Shaggy's gotta dig a grave, f*ck it, use his hands
Shaggy's gotta smoke a bowl, f*ck it, use a can
Shaggy's gotta vandalize, f*ck it, use a crayon
Still catch me rambling  in shambles still stammering
A mad man hammering out these damn stanzas
Gone bananas, flow outlandish
Might get banished, might just vanish
I'm famished
Need me some lambs brain and raisin bran
And I'll be fine and dandy, and then we can move to plan B
Crack open a fat can of grandeur single handedly 
Slandering the damn commander man candidly
He's got a big hammy for Alexander Hamilton
Bitches who play mandolin and pandering to 
Shams
It's about damn time that the ants stand a chance
Against the plants and slanted stance 
Cancer merchant chants provide no answer
Sycophants enchant, slow dance trance ya
I'm a free lancer and a big fan of banter
Big fan of trash talk and professional ranters
Slang sweet and sour but I don't speak mandarin
Don't give a damn like Randal Graves like Jeff Anderson
				   
Attack at random with damaging slams  
You can f*ck with the pan but never f*ck with the plan
The ramifications could lead to damnation man
Guy like you should understand
Don't reckon you wanna stamp that on your brand
Bamboozled by manic jams, left em' scrambling for answers 
Scrambled on camelback, and away we cantered
Never to be see again, presumably dead
Clambering from glances span, return to plague the land 
That's why he's so bad, cause one day he's abysmal
Then one day you wake up and the whole town's slipped into 
His abyss of a grip and it's a bitch to get outta
The youngins get hooked like they would on the powder
Corrupting the old heads like absolute power
No doubt the man himself's about to pout sour
When he find out bout the sick twisted rhymes I'm writing
And he have to plight his whole to life fighting me

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