I'm at your party like a girl I've slept with|| That is now with the man of the house|| New routes are directed, I get played out|| Like underground rap, I wonder if you understand facts?|| I'm not Rory Them Finest, but sometimes I try|| I'm not a good self-promoter, I held a certain order|| For my tracks and the way I select them|| I clean off my records in an effort to protect them|| I soak off my labels when I pull them from the store|| And I got slipcases but I could use more|| I play the bass shit because it simply booms|| But it gets hard playing for an empty room|| While it is a Tuesday, that should be no excuse|| Hard working people are dying to let loose|| I turn the lows high with a knob in the booth|| I'm honest, I'm telling the whole truth|| X2 Cause my night ain't good, so my nights get worse|| My night aint' good, so my nights get worse|| My night ain't good, so my nights get worse|| I play for nobody, I know that love hurts|| Too drunk to fuck, I'm too fucked to think|| The rockers love me, I put dust in their drinks|| When I pump in the dance punk numbers that bleed|| Off the Richter, I'm a man about needs|| Like checkers, I jump for practical records|| With snap music collecting grey by the day|| I'm pay per play with a focus on the former|| And I keep a metal box filled with four corners|| Like Johnny Rotten, I switch styles with the year|| With an awkward mix, I THINK I'M IN THE CLEAR!|| And now I hold dear the tracks that break the ruts|| They got me like SCENE SLUTS, SHAKE YOUR BUTTS|| I do the Simon Says like Pharoahe, pull a rapper's card like tarot|| Meet a girl, hit the crib, bump Portishead, G. Barrow|| I'm posted up like a scarecrow|| Play a couple tones, they're on the bone like marrow|| X2 I write rhymes, I don't write checks|| Cover your fucking mouth if you see me on the decks|| I start off my set with some real soft numbers|| Like rounded off Sesame Street, I'm pressing the beats|| And I give just a bit of the one-two|| Before they get unimpressed by the whole damn runthrough|| But when I go out, I confuse myself|| I only dance to songs that expound about wealth|| So this is the first step in a long combination|| It takes two to tango and even more to make a movement|| You'll get later'd like a truant, I try to set the songs|| To the future, you're still playing Deceptacon|| Where's the history? Where's the identity?|| DJs find their hearts with Hollertronix chemistry|| Moths to a flame, they run out to the light|| That's why nobody goes to unsuccessful club nights|| X2 Tuesday Night Beatdown, The Youth Beat, This Isn't A Test