Yes yes
Jam's
(Chorus)
Oi the mighty tidal wave of saliva minus spray gets higher by the day
So why try to stay on the right side of sane than my blinding rage

(Jam Baxter)
So when I fire my grenade i'm pullin a pin and flinging it
You can't swing a miss and then prickle
And the winner is?
Baxter lizard skin lyricist
Slivering a pit of your rinky dink limericks
Chippin at the chrysalids
Born with a pen and pad
Swimmin in the river styx
Snorkel to hell and back
Now I walk with a sword and a treasure map
Drawn to the desert like a whore to the smell of crack
Pourin with sweat and that dark red blood I bleed
Half dead spittin till my last breath struggles free
And now I laugh at your far fetched fucking dreams
Since a grubby teen on a park bench bunnin green
I spat gutter steeze nothing but truth
Nothing that crews can touch I got nothing to prove
Gushing the news in roughness and guzzling booze
Fuck it just loop some drums and i'll jump in the booth like

It's like it's like, yo
Man i'm used to my mood swinging
And I move with a few screws loose and a few missing
Still running from my life with my shoes slippin
Still buzzin like the flies in my soup spinnin
Who's winnin
You him or myself
Time tells
Minute hand tickin as the bigger mans mind swells
On my sizable mind's were the rhymes dwell
Sat in straight jackets in their safe padded white cells
That why my rhymes smell of blood stained mad men
Escaping my fat wet brain spittin that phlegm
Jacob
My damn head stages the crack den
When thoughts get mashed out their faces and transcend
Space time insanity
Rape mic's fanatically
I'm raising my cane
My brain writes mechanically
Take flights and rap till my brain rives in agony
Just another day in the strange life of Jamothy

(Chorus) x 1
I sit in a large darkened room in a last chance saloon
On a graveyard littered with half mastered tunes
With star charse'd rooms
My palms spark the roots
To the roots of a starvin art
Passin zoots
With a large cast a goons
A bag of sharp bars
Like we store smashed bottles in the back of our hearts
When the avalanche starts
The avatars dance
As I rap to your tattered flags hanga half mars
I lack the hard graft of this rappin lark style
With a fat mass of cattle on this abattoir march
Man this planet can't last like drugs in the waist cotch
Take off drunk in my rusty escape pod
CP
Cut from the same cloth
Wain from the same ounce
Stung by the same wasp
Facin the grey cloud
Trust I'ma stay hot
One foot skank on the sun till the rain stops

Yeah
Till the rain stops
Till the rain stops
Waste not one not you want what you ain't got
Waste not one not you want what you ain't got
What?
Nothing