TRACK FIVE
PRIME TIME [Prod. Muckaniks]

Stomach the exposure,
Summit of a dozen wooden soldiers, mumbling in Russian to his cousin in a Rover,
“Doesn’t the discussion cover runners?” then it’s over, rumblings of blushing was but nothing to this ogre,
Bussing a revolver, gushing in his motor, stuffing it in gutters, it’s a something for the chauffeur,
Tumbling though puzzles of befuddlement that smoulder, stumbling through love-ins with this glutton when he’s sober

Ruined teen,
He was fluent in the newest screen, truest dreams in his newness, stupid like the US scene,
He spewed a bluish green, fluid like his truant schemes, clueless, he, moved upon the cupids that the jewellers clean,
So like the jewellers plea to drool upon the ghoulish sea of rudeness, he would use his prudish cruelness to imbue and please,
He’s on a looting spree of fruitlessness and prudency, shooting me, and brewing my pursuers into bluish tea

Prime time, a lifeline to the rhyme mimes,
Eyes shine with a bright mind on the rhyme grind,
High crimes when you write lines on the side lines,
Eyes blind to the rhymes lined like a pipeline
 
Prime time, a lifeline to the rhyme mimes,
Eyes shine with a bright mind on the rhyme grind,
High crimes when you write lines on the side lines,
Eyes blind to the rhymes lined like a pipeline

Weapon grade,
He steps to sever with a metal blade, rebels laid never to have settled on his nettled brain,
He would kettle the bespeckled with his pestle spade, sheckles laid, wrestled from the perils he would set ablaze,
He was reddened by the dead in his infected maze, meant to blaze, deadened by the heads in his respected gaze,
He was fettered by the better he had met in pain, metal blade entering the shepherds of this treasured game

Shovelling in sewage,
He was brewing undercover but he’ll do it, he’s a punter suing wonder for its younger ruins,
Another strewing of a number for the fun of doing, clutter viewing, uttered in the thunder of his hunger stewing,
Another plunger, it’s the colour of his stunning viewing, summers he would wander into yonder, which he’s under doing
But yet he’d lumber as a plumber in the under tubing, cluttered in this slumber, he would suffer cause he’d done pursuing

Prime time, a lifeline to the rhyme mimes,
Eyes shine with a bright mind on the rhyme grind,
High crimes when you write lines on the side lines,
Eyes blind to the rhymes lined like a pipeline
 
Prime time, a lifeline to the rhyme mimes,
Eyes shine with a bright mind on the rhyme grind,
High crimes when you write lines on the side lines,
Eyes blind to the rhymes lined like a pipeline

Handshake for the clam cake at the Klan bake,
Cram steaks like a damn ape with a damn jake,
Van mates, they began hate with a tanned plate,
Bran flakes and the can crates they would ram, baked
Man states they should span fate at a grand rate,
Hang, mace every tanned face on the landscape,
Hand ached as it banged late on the back gate,
Strap taped, it’s a trap shaped for the flag-draped

Bang, when he goes home for a smoke,
But he’s so road, he would blow foam in a swoosh,
Bang, it’s his postcode that would show,
His devotion to the boatloads full of Kush,
Bang, he would load cro with a rope,
But the no-show would be close, roaming the bush,
Bang, but his close bro had a post,
With the popo, it’s a low grow, they were stoosh

Prime time, a lifeline to the rhyme mimes,
Eyes shine with a bright mind on the rhyme grind,
High crimes when you write lines on the side lines,
Eyes blind to the rhymes lined like a pipeline
 
Prime time, a lifeline to the rhyme mimes,
Eyes shine with a bright mind on the rhyme grind,
High crimes when you write lines on the side lines,
Eyes blind to the rhymes lined like a pipeline