(Choose your own adventureeeeeee!)
Martin Finch
(What's up man? What are you doin here?)
What are YOU doin here?
I thought you were at boot camp the last two months?
Hey Class, I'm back, I'm back in the 'fax, I'm back with a bad back
I was trapped in shallow Manitoba, where everything is flat
I can't even find it on a map
I was surrounded by MC's but none of them rapped
Everyday I was doin laps around the track
Every drill I was catchin flack for bein slack
I tried so hard that I had an asthma attack
And cracked my back, left it blue and black
(Man don't give me that, just keep it real, come on, it's Class)
No man, this massive motherfucker woke me up
To do sit ups and push ups, 'til I threw up
Imagine bein depressed as fuck, pressed for luck
Like nothing's enough, life is tough
When these ranks are rippin your stuff, boot camp sucks
Plus you got to dig a trench in the muck
Basic is two months of bein stuck and brain fucked
Shucks, it's worth the bucks but when you're goin through it it fuckin
Sucks
Man, that's tough luck
You sound like you could use a drink, come on, let's go get fucked up!
(yeah!)
So back into the club we went and got some liquor
We downed a pitcher, then I made my way towards the pisser
The mood is right, the music's tight, the atmosphere better
The crowd's buildin and they feelin each and every record
Then I see Ghetto Child chillin in the back but
Lookin kind of tense, a little stressed out in fact
What up Class?
(Ghetto Child man, what's happenin? What's goin on?)
Man you should leave, trust me it's about to get ugly
Alright, it's a motherfuckin stick up!
(Gun-gun-gun-gun's still loaded)
I'm ready to empty the semi on any who envy
Got plenty of deadly ammo for anyone tried to tempt me
The cannibalistic animal in me
Is the reason there's no manager with me
'Cause (the gun's still loaded)
Pour me a draft, empty the till and give me the cash
'Cause it's a stick up!
From pennies to bills, the bartender's tip cup
The ice in his grill got knocked out and picked up
(The gun's still loaded)
Still waitin to bust it, they prayin I tuck it
But that shit don't relate to my subject
Disturbin the peace. invadin the club with a ratchet
Attackin any rapper that think he sayin somethin but sayin nothin!
(Bo!, bo!) [gunshots] (the gun's still loaded)
Shots rang out, rang out, bang out, bang out
Got the club runnin like a track meet
You trip, you trampled like jockies in a stampede
Exits in every direction, everyone except me
Is leapin and creepin, duckin and dodgin, runnin and gunnin, runnin for
Safety
"Run for your life! He's gone crazy! "
That's why that lady screamed, that's her in the club, right outside
Them all shots fly but (the gun's still loaded, blow our your brain)
If the bullet hit you, turn off the CD, you're dead!
If the bullet missed you, please proceed to Track 22
