Pink Lemonade

I don’t just shine, I eminate bright beams over girls you pretend to date. I need an ice-cold chick, not just any babe, but if life throws you lemons make lemonade. ‘Ghettosocks is the illest’ tagged in the girls’ bathroom by your main-squeeze after I killed it Yo homie, pay attention ‘cause I got something clever to say (on point like every letter was ‘A’) when I’m on stage kids reconsider their fate, and make changes on the spot to be better and great. Count Sockula Esquire got grand imperial boom in your mouth like a cereal spoon. Yea I used to know serious goons who would get coked-up and go nuts like Dennis Leary would do. As a youngin’ I would make missions over to Hull where I saw a guy double-bottled over his skull. Split cheap pitchers, kept pounding ‘em out spending all the spare change that we found in the couch. Word - I’d play the wall and straight spy on chicks (that weird rap dude on some ‘science shit’) ‘just drink ‘em pretty’ was the line I’d get from the older cats - back then I was sick I don’t just shine, I eminate bright beams over girls you pretend to date. I need an ice-cold chick, not just any babe, but if life throws you lemons make lemonade. ‘Ghettosocks is the illest’ tagged in the girls’ bathroom by your main-squeeze after I killed it I work magic in my purple glasses, rockin’ ‘em lens-free since I first hit classes. If I drop a hot verse, your sister’s purse is ashes when I flip that 16 for the Turbo Graphics. Got the G5 MacBook Pro with new speakers, upped the limit on the Mastercard and new Visa, got the keys to your baby mama’s two-seater, plus a fine-arts degree up the sleeve, but who needs it? When your game’s this tight they pay for the flights, edimame, the nigiri, every grain of the rice. What you’re paying for that gear ain’t the same as the price as what I get it for laying waste to the mic. As day turns to night I’m getting tight with your ex. My name’s in the lights ‘cause I’m nice with the text, eventhough they spelled it wrong (like with an ‘X’,) I’m laughing ‘cause they spelled that shit right on the cheque, ha I don’t just shine, I eminate bright beams over girls you pretend to date. I need an ice-cold chick, not just any babe, but if life throws you lemons make lemonade. ‘Ghettosocks is the illest’ tagged in the girls’ bathroom by your main-squeeze after I killed it On the neigbourhood corner is a kid to kick a funky rhyme, with any type of backing track today it’s not country time. The world is mine just like I own the map, tour de force, four sides, microphone, phonograph. Write a poem, show the rap, light is shone upon the back of an omen it’s over half and is known as a glass - open that...and then turn your cans down, stupid it’s not def and you can’t hear a damn sound. My man’ll lounge and watch your finished hook begin to fail while I chill and cut some records like Guiness Book finger nails. It isn’t stale or a Minute Maid when I spin the plate, and sit and wait while you disintegrate in the shade of pink - or more likely yellow, that cool refreshing drink from an unsightly fellow with greased elbows - concentrate I hold the seconds. Amateurs get chained by their own hung gold records and I don’t just shine, I eminate bright beams over girls you pretend to date. I need an ice-cold chick, not just any babe, but if life throws you lemons make lemonade. ‘Alpha Flight is the illest’ tagged in the girls’ bathroom by your main-squeeze after I killed it