My Posse
‘Dr. Dub, some punk kick us in the nuts! We ll take em all out! All out! Every Body Lights Out!’

‘Yeah, boyiz, Lets get illing. Turnaboutism Time! Turnaboutism Time!’

This time, that time, right time, wrong time, any ever all a time, Turnaboutism Time!
Wheat and the tares, think Dr. Dub really cares? Smash em in the short hairs, lets kill em all in pairs.
Got an uppity brain, then meet Reverend Chain, he aint so sane and youll be a little stain.
Diss Major Rum, he aint so dumb, youre underneath his thumb then hell have himself some fun.
Here is Massa Rove, from gangtsa hood he drove where he truly throve, smash your head with a stove.

You a freak gonna pop us? You a sneak gonna top us? Uppity or weak? Maybe just meek? Turnaboutism Time!
Theyre the badass pope of crooked dope, so you got no hope. They keep it on a tight rope. Use it for your soap.
Hear something lurk? Do those tricks really work? Get that insane clueless jerk and thump him till we smirk.
Lost their place? Lost in space? The race for face! The face of race! We are the ace. Stay in your place.
Mighty tighty righty fighty outta sighty under way, got all in their sway, get it on any way.

Ever the best time, never not time, ever flacka-wacka-hack-attack time, Turnaboutism Time!
They dream of their cream, all their know in the flow off chumps they make scream, and off the plebian team.
Get that bling, hear that ring, hear how sweet it sing. Run see how much bread o dead you can bring.
It’s Biblical, my posse curses from verses apocra-clypical, keeping them from creeping is so hypellip-atypical.
It’s the name of the game of the game of the name and pain and the shame aint looking so tame.

You say we got morals to settle all our quarrels? Yo! This aint the frozen chosen snoozing losing. (Frame that, suckers!)

‘Dr. Dub, some punk kick us in the nuts! We’ll take em all out! All out! Every Body Lights Out!’

‘I am the master illing Turnaboutist of my time! ThumpaChumpafication of nations, I am the king!’

Party for the Fight from the Right

Force, inequality! We’re out to spin it
We know most folks, they aint real in it
So the party struck it right in 94
Our phat posse skank lotta little more
We near crunk ourselves face down on the floor,
Until the major year of buck blessed zero zero
Come out with a newjack white trick hero
But it was near, Oh, we barely got selected
Were rappin n nappin, then got trifected, (ever resurrected, keepin you dejected)
Don’t pry any why whats making this occur
Just so you know your woe: you aint secure!

I am the pundit, and I can go prove it to you
We kick it the best with a tight crew of the few
Whole worlds made of raw terror and straw
Be scared of them ALL, so its shock n awe,
For them Other people, if they get up
They’re all the Method Man, evil and wicked
And you’re anOther, too, if youre all fed up
Then you meet OUR Method Man, just the ticket,
And Yupee’s the Master Baiter of any other Klan. Yupee up yourself up. Do it, do it now!

from It’ll Take a Nation to Hold Us Back, by The My Gang Klan
(Sugarpops, keep your sugarbabies buttered up, Buy in bulk here! Can-o-zomb.con Barney&Rumble.glom)
(Yupee Yup respcetunefully thanks Chuck D and Public Enemy for providing the raw matter I use to shatter. We are Public Preynemy number Ace, and we’re coming at your face. Waddya gonna do?)

Wingnuts learn all our tricks from Cheney our sensei
Down with the crowd at the PNAC
Started a whole war just for the oil money
And get pundits like Coulter and Malkin to believe
Michelle Malkin is a-rhyming like she’s crazed
Give her some logic and facts and she don’t know what to say
Saying she talked crazy before my boy Tucker Carlson
That kind of stuff is just going too far, son
The right’ll tell them again, we’ll tell them again–gwan!
The right’ll tell lies again, we’ll tell lies agaaaain
If it’s WMD or wiretapping, the mainstream media’s still telling lies to you
No matter what the issue, Bush is still telling lies to you

The O’Reilly Malefactor, is a temple of screech
Wit’ every damn clue beyond the Gibson reach
Like a pox, motherfoxer, it’s that Hannity leech
While the poor along the Gulf are left on terminal beach

Lookin’ up your skirts, up your money, takin’ peeks
Up your net, up your phone, then right between the cheeks
Callin’ that security, you effin’ paranoid freaks
Truth don’t hurt the nation, but its losses prick the leaks

Photocopy catty Coulter is a cribbing vulture
A bigger bone than Rush for bangin’ on the culture
Without his pills Fatty had to can his cum butler
An’ pigboy Karl’s dumpin’ files in the mulcher

Chimp and Rummy got a course that they stayin’
So if you serve, there’s a lot of us prayin’
For for hearts, for your minds, I’m just sayin’
We hope that peace be the price that your payin’
__

peace

fans of ann’s defend the hen,
who rules the roost
as she clucks about killing judges

russert, the angry muppet,
gets off on being karl’s puppet

drudge deals the sludge
to the wingnuts addicts who need a fix

as rush drops his pills
and the stampers stamp the bills

tweety’s needy
falafle’s brain is fried
haniity’s hands are tied
as jeff gannon leaves impressions

speaking of whores
judy sold the war
did her time, and is the worse kind of slime

we’re on the dole
for the big a hole, dubbya