paroles de chanson The Junkyard - Buck Bowen feat. Femi Deacon

Heavens to Murgatroyd I'm still fresh in corduroys
These labels are like priests and these rappers are like altar boys
Stop all the noise and you could curb your enthusiasm
You couldn't walk in my shoes if you were Frodo Baggins

I walk around and with a chip on my shoulder
Though I'm standing on the shoulders of the great ones that rose before us
The great performers with the verses that were always flawless
The founding fathers and the breakers and graffiti artists

My rhymes are polished and I write'em with a code of honor
Spit it with the coldest heart I'm riding for the older martyrs
The 3 bigs Wallace, Rios, and Lamont Coleman
Guru, Sean Price, we lost some good ones

And now we're left with these wombats and rugrats
With Twitter beefs and mumble raps I respect none of that
You mumble words you're exactly what a novice is
You're from Toronto you don't know where the bottom is

I'm the F-e-m-i D-e-a-c-o-n
Trying to live and prosper like a Vulcan
Trying to get my pockets all swollen
But my money coming short like Gary Coleman

I'm hot to deaf you're blind and all chill
It's Cocktober so I put my Halloweenie on your mom's grill
And for your father, consider it doomsday
He's getting served ass potatoes and a tube steak

Isn't it vile?
I know urine happy just because I pissed in your smile
And you can taste the rainbow
Like a facial from a gay man let's call it a flame throw

Your music's truly tragic
It looks pretty on the surface but lacks depth like a beauty pageant
Look at all these goofies rapping
Lacking skill unoriginal full of shit like a poopy napkin

But I just get off and laugh
At the number one radio station for Hip Hop and cash
And while I waited for this moment to pass
I found the secret to get my dick 6 inches "How?!" fold it in half