artists: a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

elmer fud (more cowbell)) lyrics – sean price

(verse)
spit harder b rosary b, stigmata
if count medulla oblongata a shooter
tell the world i’m a h-lla thug
double barrel apparel, similar to elmer fud
duck season and big rug squeezin’
i’ll even say shoot, hoof for no reason
keep the p-wns of the predicate
tell ’em, tell ’em go home with the medal
go to yo home, leave hommie in hold of yo chrome
got 4-4-4’s like the roachers belong
gunshots, i’m breakin’ it thunder
i mean, go swing on the king of samunda
i kill the covert of cubscout
rub me the wrong way, b-tch, n-gg-s get guaped out
i used to be a b-boy, b-tch
now i spit jim scarr killoyd sh-t

(verse)
swall up the shots, i knock ’em down
when i formulate a plot, yo block is blocka-loud
beats get ran thru like sheets of bamboo
now they all learn to savor the burbon of grand crew
stake thru the heart, hallucinate in the dark
i create another shadow up in sculpture park
dispose the rock and simulate a culture shock
that make yo spine disalign and make yo pulse stop
check it! let the record reflect my intellect
that ignorant disposition that neva accept death
got a pro’lem, you can meet us on the moon
have it stopped kickin’ since our feet was in the womb
i proceed to find freedom in the tombs
while yo mind’s still locked keepin’ weed inside balloons
my steam impit steam on that piff
you ain’t gotta say sh-t, just think it an -sset

()
yeah, now betta handle with caution
anyone of my n-gg-z is causin’ misfortune
f-ck the flowers, help ya spit on the coffin
the fowlest brand, baby come and swallow these offerings
flow ill-tank like zip locks and body bags
n-gg-s is p-ss-es and softer than v-g-n- pads
play it hype like you’re sniffin’ some royal yay
what it means is i’ll be beatin’ it’s -ss the whole day
you call it beef but i call it the entree
boy i serve it up cheap like i bought it from conway
f to the izzle, b-tch, no deal
punch introduction, my function is so ill
rap trinity is simply too ill
the epidemy of lyrically sh-ttin’ on yo grill

- sean price