The Thought & Smith the Poet - Rot in Green

That wasn't even funny
That wasn't even close to funny

BLAQKNOIZ!
Rot in Green!

Marching on the capitol, or Capital One?
Ides of March don't seem to happen just to dampen the fund
On the gauge, they lazy-tapping, as we getting overrun
Must we praise the lower taxes? Or raise a couple guns?
Show the masses to the door, the fastest get by clean
So they limit interactions with the average they don't see
Out the grave, anarcho-fascists getting paid to make-believe
Like economies divine, and they can sift 'em through the T
(Pssssh) I don't believe it
I'm not a greedy motherfucker, I don't hoard if I don't need it
I was dealt the lowest seeding, and I'm coming for the ceiling
Thought I used to be a problem? You really should have weeded
(Dumbass) Not to antagonize
But these shitty circumstances don't give to "read between the lines"
All these selfish fancy-pantses don't give to charity
They just give to churches, funding surges of vulgarity
There ain't no parity, nothing's working fair, it seems
The bulging bellies of the bourgeoisie bursting at the seams
You should know by not that fuel can't melt the beams
But it can make 'em bend, losing structural integrity

Rot in Green
Rot in Green
Rot in
Rot in

Nostrum Gross, that rotten green
Bled more blues in blobs of bleeps
Spent in spit, you spoke to fiends
I'd dismiss like I ain't seen
Where I've been no, where I leave
Money ain't bliss, no, it's your disease
Funny, ain't this, your whole life to lead?
So maybe be pleased with the finer things
Nostrum Gross, that rotten green
Bled more blues in blobs of bleeps
Spent in spit, you spoke to fiends
I'd dismiss like I ain't seen
Where I've been no, where I leave
Money ain't bliss, no, it's your disease
Funny, ain't this, your whole life to lead?
So maybe be pleased with the finer things

I'm saying fuck money, but pay your dues buddy
This ain't a ruse, honey, I shrunk the paper, muddy
And made the moves rugged, the dollar sign stomachs
Its worthwhile rubbish, high, your lives love it
They say the mind mug it, for meanwhile muzzles
The priors paying double, when Nikki need cuddles
I sold her E, Subtle, the Thoet, Smought post-puddles
The mock-up, no other than death-bursting bubbles
So reckless, I puzzle and question, reloading
Concoctions, no fear when we rocket the beat
Gross in the green or blue, your song to soothe
How wonderful a life when I don't think of you
Coast to coast, that cost increased
That cautious bloke, too far to reach
You smoked with me, no, they ain't seen
When I sin, nor where I sleep
'Cause money ain't shit, no it's your disease
Funny, ain't this your whole hype, for me?
So maybe state sticks, too stoney to Steez
And let me live, bitch, it's my life to lead!
Right?

Uhhhhhhhhhhh

Written by:
Christian Smith, Jack Mabie

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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