Grenade Launcher

Mad Child and C-Lance, we formed an alliance

Fuck these bitches, we the horniest ornery giants

The way I rap's mathematics, it's sort of a science

Your rap's wack, I'll do more than just corner your client

I leave 'em fuckin' mortified, dog, I terrorize

My rhymes are more than fuckin' clean, holmes, they're sterilized

Sometimes I lean so hard I need a kickstand

I wrestle alligators and I dance on quicksand

I call a rapper Tin Man cause he got no heart

Each line's an arrow dipped in poison from a blow dart

Yeah, these rappers they got no parts

Me against them's a Maserati to a go-kart

These young punks, they think they're so smart

I might be old, but I'm the sickest fuckin' old fart

I'm so much better, you can blame it on the age difference

You got your party clothes on, I'm wearing beige slippers

I give a fuck about a club, it's just a meat market

These girls will open up their legs like it was free parking

Of course I like to fuck, but there's no challenge

I must have fucked a thousand bitches since we dropped Balance

The law of averages says we win again

Hand grenade parade, we blowin' up, pull the pin

And then, boom! Make room for Swollen, man

And then, bang! It's a battleaxe thing

The law of averages says we win again

Hand grenade parade, we blowin' up, pull the pin

And then, boom! Make room for Swollen, man

And then, bang! It's a battleaxe thing

Street fight, pit fight, red nose, blue nose

Old school vinyl so cold like blue note

Head spin, head win fills up the sails with

Prevail's gifts, press to lean, my recipe is very secret

See my destiny inscribed on a tablet stone

Rappers leave rap alone unless it's in your chromosomes

Monsters in your closet, watch it, turn you to skeleton bones

Think you Mr. Hardcore, callin' you Gelatin Jones

Look upon my Boardwalk Empire, Al Capone

You think you "Lucky" like Luciano, test my bravado

Over this piano leave you cold and you won't see tomorrow

Sorrow follows, hollows sleepy

Headless Horseman, the water rush deeply

Percussion real freaky, bang drums like a marching band

Art form swarms like the wasp in the savage lands

Sting with the poison of November born scorpions

The law of averages says we win again

Hand grenade parade, we blowin' up, pull the pin

And then, boom! Make room for Swollen, man

And then, bang! It's a battleaxe thing

The law of averages says we win again

Hand grenade parade, we blowin' up, pull the pin

And then, boom! Make room for Swollen, man

And then, bang! It's a battleaxe thing

The older I get, the more crazy and sicker I think

I got a wet brain from all the fuckin' liquor I drink

I wake up broke and obsessed about stickin' a Brink's

Fuck a bitch raw, dog, and wash my dick in the sink

Nah, dog, I ain't saved a penny I made

I just stay up all night rockin' with that Henny brigade

I done been around the world fuckin' Kimmy and Jade

Brenda and Holly, I'll prolly end up skinny with aids

Golly, I took some molly, bitch, you really wanna party? Good

You can ride the white horse all the way to Hollywood

You can be a Harvard, a starlet and have a TV show

Charlotte, once you get me started, you should see me go

In the company of Mad Men, I'm the CEO

Yeah, I got a fat fuckin' stomach and a greasy flow

Nobody likes me cause I'm ignorant, a cocky fuck

Try and battle me, I'll fuckin' slap you like a hockey puck

The law of averages says we win again

Hand grenade parade, we blowin' up, pull the pin

And then, boom! Make room for Swollen, man

And then, bang! It's a battleaxe thing

The law of averages says we win again

Hand grenade parade, we blowin' up, pull the pin

And then, boom! Make room for Swollen, man

And then, bang! It's a battleaxe thing