War Drum - Illinformed, Leaf Dog, Jack Jetson

Always has the shotty near his mouth like Kurt Cobain

Blowing smoke through a tunnel like an old school train

What’s the strain?

Never say the name in vain

On board like a plane

Drag a bitch by her main

Ain’t much changed

Apart from the ones who reign

The dog you can’t tame

(About Rockports again?)

Digging out a new lane that not many will stand in

The beat hustle king hold my phones for ransom

Fuck laser beams, skinny jeans and dancing

Kids chatting shit and my fans are lamping

Without me even asking

Reality can’t grasp em

Closed like the caption

Chain reaction

Type of rhyme pattern

On point like satallite tracking

Underground no major backing

Your bitch is a bike we ride her like a tandem

Pussy’s so loose you need (plane size to lamp on?)

(Eric the Red)

From my skunk

You feel the paranoid attack of panic

My rap style frantic and more madder than a manic

Addicted to the taste like a hit on the blue magic

The (hide screens?) in smoke rooms make me feel nostalgic

The worst guy cos im obssesive and compulsive

A twisted mind cos im depressive and repulsive

I’m vile, my shits so sick you can feel the bile

It’s that psycho leaving blood on your bathroom tile

Unsure of yourself thats why you live in denial

The stoned desciple, stash my skunk for survival

Go the extra mile (???)

My bars so sharp that my tongues considered a concealed weapon

Why the fuck you stepping into the unknown void

Do I not look like a cracked out paranoid guy

That would do anything to get high

Like breathing in the mould dust or eating funghi

(Index)

I am the future, now welcome to it

Floating down the river

Top speed like metal fluid

Listening to devil music

I’m a sick child demented by the devil food I am been fed

I’m raging red enough to wreck the booth

Going nowhere, I wouldn’t even go there

You can’t compete with the flows or the (???) here

The green pharmacist

Don’t be alarmed by this

Affiliated with the best of weed farmer kids

I roll like a hobo pungent with charm

With a swarm full of no goes hanging off my arm

Sack swinging

Like a skunks ringing the alarm

Leaving doors wide open

Born in a barn

Appalling to some

Scum and untrained

Some call me Shang Tsung burn em in the flames

Done with the mill run grind stones

Consider me a father cos what I say goes

(Smellington Piff)

I lick a ripped Rizla and stick a spliff with spit

We talk Real Life Drama

No blurb from a script

Fuck props or (???) or crock of shit

Stack the cash

Listen to the master clash

Pass the stash

I’ve never seen you act so fast

Jack crack me

And Jack smack you back to back HA!

The underground resistance

On the forefront

Banging a war drum

Won’t quit till the wars won

I’m a naturalist

I pack the spliff and rap like I’m stacking gifts

Attacking riffs, who, it’s the bastard kids

Wielding battle axes like Asterix

Cataclysmic acts for that purpose

Lungs intake smoke like catalytic converters

Watch where you step cos we’re under the surface

Like earthworms we merge words and cause skirmish

(Jack Jetson)

Out my tree man jumped the nest

Travelled back to 1993, (album cassettes?)

Drunken mess ingesting drugs like Hunter S. Thompson

Your worst demons Jets got em

Plus some next problems

Crazy afflictions

Blood stains and convictions

Faking prescriptions

Drug taking addictions

Shoe string budgeting

Blue slim skin with the pukka ting

Puts a different spin on the look of things

Alcoholic with an ounce of chronic

In desk draw stinking through to next door

Fridge full of export

On top of the game like I’m standing on a chess board

Crash the Ford Escort landed in an (???)

Yes your listening to the dopest

Drink liquor till I’m giving liver sclerosis

Killer this ain’t showbiz

Ain’t spitting for the Hovis

Flow is wavy so it’s swimming with the Blowfish

And you ain’t bad your a man in denial

Street Fighter flow kicking it like Blanka and Guile

My cancerous vile slang with leave your gang in a pile

Man I got styles make you rappers run for marathon miles