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