Funk King

In a world of diversions and too many choices,
Complaining gets lost in the barnyard of voices,
Pigs there a swealing, chickens a’clucking,
All pleading with horny intentions of

Funk King ruling the world of the dance,
Barnyard intentions waving round in his pants,
I’ve lost my desire to twirl and to twitch,
Because of that brainless son of

A bit ya can see but can’t seem to ignore,
With brainless backbeats his music’s a bore,
Without a melody, devoid of class,
The Funk King looper is a pain in the

Asking me why I show no remorse,
Condemning a person’s musical choice –
Having no tune, just a barnyard of words,
It all just smells like musical turds

Malware

Ugly, ugly, S U B…
You causin disputes with them shorties and tee.
Your personal appearance
Is offensive to me
Startin war without guns - leave me be.

Take you away,
You foulin my view
You make to forget
What I wanted to do.

Buy you a ticket,
But don’t ride in class.
Stay with the baggage
And hide you fat

Ask me again
Why I look you so bad?
Might just be
That spaghetti you had.
Or the baggies that hover
Down at your knees
Front on or back up
You give me disease.

Eye mine too precious
To take you all in.
You breakin the barrier of
Ugly as sin.
It not what you born with -
That I don’t care.
It’s your put on put on
Let’s call it Malware.