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Where's the party at?
Let's hit the fort,
get it poppin like
a bottle that spits a cork.
This track is a drug that Bliss endorsed.
Do ya listen to it?
Nah, its for your whip to snort,
so pop it in your old bomb
or your ritsy Porsche,
and when you listen sport
you feel the buzz
when you wrist is forced
to turn it up 'til this shit distorts
and damn near ODs, makes your system short.

Oh lord, lo' and behold.
You're mean drunk,
but you still got this show on the road.
These fucken haters
act all cocky,
try to cut us down
like we tall poppies.
Man, we grass roots
who were taught to shoot
and mouth off in the face of corporate suits,
who force the troups
to all fall short and stoop
to selling our souls
for a source of loot.

So please,
these cats now breathe.
Relax, and let the poem
set the tone,
'cause under every ego is flesh and bone.
Now sway, right andleft in zone,
got the crowd looking like a giant metronome.
Let's go to my world,
give my record a spin,
let the melody massage,
and beckon you in.