Park Bench - Swollen Members

Red line, razor blade gang, I’m an outlaw

Crack jaw, you won’t see it coming hit you south paw

Torch the village cause they’re really very hokey

Killin' all the villagers and spit like karaoke

Used to treat me like a trophy

Then things got low key, I was dopey

Now nobody even know me

And just because I’m doing good again don’t mean you know me

Trust me, I am not the old me

And I cannot remember one thing that you told me

Relationship is stale, it is moldy

I’m fresh now a classic, like great golden oldies

Not a Mack like Goldie

Never wack, I attack so boldly

Shit is crazy, life is like a blur

I could be a psycho but it’s not what I prefer

New king, cinderella no glass slipper

No black leather act for the wack stripper

Madchild lyrically I’m an ass kicker

Not a ass kisser, I’m a practicer

That’s where a lot differ and I’m a lot different

Without a pot to piss in but I am not tripping

Cause see the clock and the clock’s ticking

Badman, I’m a rude boy, shot lickin'

I mean no, I made no deal with them bowcat

Had to leave awhile and stop doing opiates

Stomp on a white boy, smash on a halfbreed

I don’t give a fuck when I rap, I am baffling

Yo dogs are good, most people suck

I’ll probably grow up to be an old evil fuck

Sitting on a park bench, cane and a cardigan

Thinkin' of the days back when Shane he was partyin'

And soon I’ll be an artifact

Seemed like yesterday I was picking up a party pack (ha)

Now I’m worried about a heart-attack

Still child-like, AMAX and a starter cap

You can’t cheat father time

Just be thankful I’m happy, I’ve had harder times

Things that I like, they are mad hard to find

I’m a snob, do my job, I’m a master of rhymes

I’m a bastard to some, to the rest shit is good

Main fear?

Not to do the best that I could

Not give it all I got, but still could do better

Decade and a half, group still we’re together

Still birds of a feather

Still dope beats, ill words put together

Hip-hop saved me twice, that’s a true fact

I still love checkin' for fucking tough records

Used to have a pistol in my hand

Now I want blue skies, seeing crystal in the sand

I’m getting old, call me mister I’m the man

Still cold, still official as the plan motherfucker