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