Salsa

We were born in the 70's,
The rippin and rhyming and brethren see,
We're filling taste great,
In the old school I was 8,
Fot the new school I was late,
But in high school I was debate,
I rate in the great state of California,
I'm warning ya.

Je vais a la plage parce,
Que le guignol est chouette!
I kick nonsense in French,
Tasty like Crepe Suzette,
I bet you're feeling famished,
For a 311 sandwich,
Not the wack DJ's,
That I'm a damage.

I like a beat that's unique,
And yes I like my head zooming,
And in my Continental,
You know that shit's booming,
With the diamond in the back,
Suicide doors,
You can look from here to eternity,
And never receive your morsel.

Another tale of ordinary madness,
The girl who gave you her sex,
I heard was homeless say,
All I really wanna is to feel nirvana,
Won't you take me tonight?
And we just might find,
A bottle of wine,
And feel our nasty nature,
Your tongue licking up my tongue,
Your radio pickin' up,
A smokey Jazz love song.

Madness becomes you,
Even though your living,
Life it's hard to exist,
When you're tempted by flesh,
You wanna bust through,
Beautiful legs in the bar,
There is poetry,
She bends and suspends,
And her ass is a marvelous thing,
A dance dancing at a club The Hereafter,
Who can't really dance,
But that doesn't really matter,
And she won't hear applause,
Cause your drunk and lost,
All light is gone,
Your arms spread like a cross,
And you're dreaming that the world,
Will soon fall apart.

Topless girl in your gaze,
Which is hazy,
Takes your dollar,
In the gutter without cigarettes,
Or wine your hungover,
I was warned of your normal behaviour,
And felt my life was too short,
To consider your wack self,
It's like this when you dip down,
And you are boxing,
Reeling against the ropes,
And you face some young Mexican,
Your scrapping your kneck gets snapped back,
Your eyes have bled,
Your thinking about a comeback,
But your taking it to the head,
You little Bastard.

Better watch you back,
Cause we're after your punk ass,
By God we're gonna jack it,
You're played out and small time,
And your show is over,
You're about as lucky as a three leaf clover,
And your older Ho Bag Sceezer,
In her droopy saggy skin,
Who thought she was a model,
But in truth a never-has-been,
You both are fools,
You and your cheap rooms too,
The cigar biting your lips,
The way love use to.