but i like the backstreet boys
cuttin' life's corners at track meets
wit an athlete's poise
yea, the street life,
where we grow to greet pipes
vampire status son,
we don't sleep nights
we, grieve lights,
tired, the crap is madness
but won't, think twice
when quietin' wired apparatus
silent wit packs of cabbage
patch kids my lips attached wit
savage... Last of the Mohicans
in this rap shit
burn ya draft pick
a hippie wit a hatchet
even pacifists like,
"go ahead, swing ya axe, kid"
trot in a Jeep,
Cherokee blood hounds my veins
Dance wit Wolves,
carefully huddle 'round the flames
motherfuckers, I'll show u how to
make it rain
but don't complain when them chains
come to stake their claim
beware the bird call,
this falcon's talons alloy
a lil too much off the top
(of the dome) scalpin' cowboys
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