The Garden

Welcome to the garden the HQ of Jim Laden Where weed trees grow around the things I leave departed Got AKs in black bags you think we're full of garbage Guess again the weapons I've obtained are like Osama's Who, by the way, is still alive, and says to say hello And told me to tell you that hes just laying low Then disclose that he was paid to take the blame For what happened to the towers, so America could take control I make the fans mosh, but this ain't rock and roll Just a snippet of the craziness of the life I know Inside the grimy flow, blow your mind to Idaho And fly back to return to its rightful home Im like a war lord of lyrics I've got much more than spirit Im trying to conjure a spell and take control Of every single area code across the globe For every fairy tale told I tell it straight and bold I'm something like the common cold No ones find a cure for me, so I just hang around until its time to go And come back when I decide to And play personas for viruses, like bird flu and swine flu Or whatever's in line next that's been designed to Kill it slowly within life's huge human zoo Its J. Ladan with a 'chete in alley way Dont ask me who I am, who the fuck are you, Buckaroo? All my bars and rhymes move in synchracy Think of me like mother Mary boy you can't get into me But I ain't virginal I'm dangerous to pussy holes Who think that I won't step to them instinctively and sink my teeth In their damn necks, take a rain check Instead of blazing you I probably rather blaze the blessed But I'll be spraying to the day and date the game starts making sense Won't stop until I'm dead Thats what I call going to grave extents Bring me back to life in fifty thousand years And I reign on whoever rapping nice Then kick back with a diet coke jack and ice See words for me swells within the devils eyes A never ending well of lust probably made me jealous, I Throw my hands up, I admit But I run up my lips a bit because I felt like I'm handcuffed But now I've broke free, Im never leaving bankrupt Rappers think they're dead stiff like rigor mortis is Just know I go hard, like pornstar performances Norman of Normandy, I'll force you out your fortresses Until you're hiding like your moonlighting as a contortionist I see men collecting metals, I think we need to pause a bit Cause I ain't hating for the day that I start making soft songs son I'll probably win an award for it And for a spitter like myself that's what the bullshit is Anyways, I never stray away from real All I can do, I guess, is demonstrate the way I feel The way I speak, the way I move, the way I breathe, the way I'm ill So real life got me chasing that 2 stone still I lost when diabetes handed me my tombstone I'm fucking ill Listen, I worked hard to get signed, but thats irrelevant The point I'm tryna make's I never had a lucky deal So all you inbreds can climb my money hill Cause D.E.V. is on the hunt for money still And then my hands ain't on the curb they're on the till I'm OT, you know me Running through the whole scene, screaming Dagenham is ill With young whippers snappers grabbing on the steel What the fuck is with this manner chat will get you killed Crack and smack is everywhere, just like the weed and pills My backyard is too rough for Titchmarsh Fuck all the little pricks who keep saying my name You'll never be as ill I've done everything you've done ten times over We got everyone doing good things for the UK Nothing but love all day Lets make it happen OT our time, Devlin, A Moving Picture