When I writ this shit, I burned my top lip, and the shit gave me a cold ha. On the level, shit ain't even a joke. Anyway, fuck it, check it, yo-
VERSE 1:
I chop 'em up in a bath, stick body parts in a bag/
you can catch me pissed up, spitting bars to slags/
Temper like a bayonet, you get charged and stabbed/
I'm that sick cunt, that stuck, Niki Manaj in a gag/
Meth heads iced up, with matchstick teeth/
That's who I got backing me, when I handle my beef/
I sing a couple soft songs, to get head faster/
Then run 'em on a school girl, call me head master/
Treat all my critics like pussy's, I fuck 'em/
I don't like the youngers, and I don't trust 'em/
some say I won't sell 10 copies, I'd like to mention/
I got knife to my Nan, she copped 10 copies, out her pension/
Like Mario on mushrooms, I get big/
Talk shit, like a fit chick, you'll get dick/
Sipping Jesus juice, flying, 'till I throw up/
Peter pan mother fucker, I'll never fucking grow up/
CHORUS:
I drop it sick, and you know that/you hear it once, you can't go back/ I drop it sick, and you know that/ so don't call my name-
(Repeat)
VERSE 2:
Woooo, yeah these lines are getting too much/
like a skinny chick sniffing lines, then getting two's up/
Give me a big fat chick, that eats ribs/
Smack her on the backside, like Jimmy beats kids/
We got a fucked sense of humour, these are dark times/
manors are like teenage virgins, things you can't find/
force my CD on you, while I'm pissed, drunk/
and if you don't like Age, go listen to Chip Monk, you shit cunt/
Slap on a ill beat, AGER just hops in/
It's too much like Shady though, fuck it, it worked for Hopsin/
the sound track of my childhood, was ill/
Then Skinny Man and TaskForce, showed me what's real/
I guess it's why my CD's, so diverse/
I can murder a verse, keep it real and switch perverse/
I like the punch lines, they make laugh though/
now my sick mind's, balls deep in the charts, yo/
I'm pissed, 'cos all I ever wanted was a nice girl/
I'm 28 now, still wanking over Spice girls/
Ager's ill, always comes with them hard lines/
Disgusting, like the history on my hard drive/
CHORUS:
I drop it sick, and you know that/you hear it once, you can't go back/ I drop it sick, and you know that/ so don't call my name-
(Repeat)
Kraze Kingston's Studio Sessions. I feature on the song Conservatives (Get The Fuck Out) and gave a preview from my 3rd and final CD in TELL IT LIKE IT IS. FREE DOWNLOADSSS AGER
