Nachos


We’ve got dope heads in Pro Keds, man I used to rock those
Find me down at Henry’s with the most delicious nachos

I wonder we come to find a hundred lines and none are mine
Undivided attention bends to gentlemen who underline
From the grime beneath the BAPES I see the truth lies
Receipts are kept for souls beholden to the new tribe
And in the jungle, I’m the lion sleeping tonight
So watch your tongue, you’re just a weapon in a food fight
Extra rare with serrated cuts, you made it up
But when it comes to money, man you never made enough

We’ve got dope heads in Pro Keds, man I used to rock those
Find me down at Henry’s with the most delicious nachos

Got a flock of fair weather friends and then the winds changed
Then you go from cutting edge to merely insane
Then you pull some stunts to get back to the main stage
And while I’m making songs, my wife is playing Brain Age
So what I’m saying is we’re moving forth, you’re staying flat
And that’s price to pay and you’re the one who made the pact
Making raps, slay a cat, no A&R made me jack
You’re looking for a flux capacitor to make it back
From here to Budapest, grooves chewing through your nudist flesh
In a battle to the death, I’m ruinous and nuke with breath

We’ve got dope heads in Pro Keds, man I used to rock those
Find me down at Henry’s with the most delicious nachos

I never rimed for the sake of Ritalin or Prozac
So clime in the break and innovate with a toe tap
My mood is attached to the groove of a cat who is ruining rap
So fast that it is super sick…suitable to move the crowd
If you want to battle, we can duke it out
It’s easy enough to make a random diss
And make you feel so small that you don’t exist
Take a deal? No thanks. You can keep the fame.
I want a laid back life with a secret name.
And I may rap nice, but it’s not for pay
I go to sleep, go to work then I’m off to play

We’ve got dope heads in Pro Keds, man I used to rock those
Find me down at Henry’s with the most delicious nachos

On occasion, disturbed, but it’s mostly fun
Interlopers and chauffers, I won’t be one
I’m getting closer to death and I’m fine with that
But I don’t want to die in a kind of crash
Cause I’ve seen Cronenburg’s flick and it’s sort of sick man
And that’s sick beyond a spritz of your Dristan
Once rocked a wristband made from an old sock
But I looked like a homeless mummy. No props.
No mas. I can cut myself down to size
Throw in a five cent word, now I’m sounding wise.
Find the crucifixion nail and I’ll pound it twice
Fort Wayne, Indiana-yeah, my town is nice.