Count Eleven

Say what you aren't
Sell what I see
Pray tell, what you wanna be when the beat gets awful frisky?
Lawful Risky
Hit 'em with the freak shit, makeshift, breakbeat, straight heat
Afraid he'll come undone on the runaround
Readied back at Frame One
No cooldown
Smack that fool down

If a true combo hits then mate, you'd pray you stayed down
Quarter-circle-back attack on a track mid-match
Never buy a beat that you know that you can make by scratch
Do me a favour, won't ya?
Put a little semiquaver culture in this structure
Vampire vultures stalk in the dread of the night
Dead to rights are The Knights of the four-four Court of Score wrights
It's heaven for those who can send it

Ascendant
A triplet groove for this mathematics lesson
School is in session
A million miles an hour for the fuckwit, dipshit, white kid
Give it to me straight, can you count to eleven, mate?
Shit

Once I wanted
To be someone else
Threap the bonds that
Forced me from my shell
Fi! Vivacious
Sics thine own sick spell
Seven sins sit
Still, sum yet withheld

Ain't that nifty?
Ain't that something else?
Ain't this freaky?
Ain't this such the yell?
Eight's too easy
Nine's too round and slow
Tend this with me
Eleven beats or so

I don't need drums to keep time
If rhyme's a weapon, I'm betting yours ain't half as sharp as mine
Much ado about naught but oneself
The selfish sets all else's fairs square on the shelf
Heaven and Hell can contend that life's the
Practice before the mortal must leap in the deep end
But no, I've never believed in those creeps
Let's double the speed, then

Everybody's saying that I'm never gonna make it, but I'm taking any
Bet that I can on the self at any odds they'll let me stake it
Learning that I can't half-bake it
Full-and-a-half at the very least
Pulling a calf, all to keep
Up with my heroes and all the cool shit they've done
One Fun Run becomes a marathon
Never done
Half a ton of double entendres

Your beats are nice so show me what's under
It's fun to hear thunder
But I can't take the bullshit anymore
What's it for?
You think the money and fame will make your
Repertoire more worth the passion left at the door?
Well, the four-on-the-floor groove is no longer the standard
The beat's gone independent
Sovereign Nation of Fun
The State of The Passionate Hum

Bolstered by the wait they've been forced to take since Day One
Give it to me straight, can you count to eleven, cunt?

Say it with me
Say you'll take the plunge
Let's get busy
Grab them by the plums
Twist and break them
Scream and tell them their
Rules are made in
Hatred, greed and fear
Don't go gentle

Into that good night
Life's a rental
Make its maker write
Off the excess
Milk this till it's dry
When they say to
Jump, you say "how high?"