Rambles in Shambles
Shaggy the Magic Scum
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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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