| Lyrics: | If you got an itch to catch some havoc.
There’s mayhem in the plastic.
City of La
La, I mean the land of holy Zsa Zsa
The wood is hot and you can spot the flocks
Of people
like sheep, those with dredlocks
To jocks with Reeboks, fleeing hard rocks
A la café,
Bambatta flashy fashion.
Imagine crashing bashes with bitches
That be bad and wishing for
the fame
And recognition.
They’re on a mission for self, baby
We’re
like the twelve, my tribe is crazy deep.
We got the beats that are hot.
We’re like
clinique.
Foundation resonates when I speak.
And if by chance, you catch it
Then
listen, the wisdom
Epic, open hitting, choking up.
You’ve done it now and woken
up.
The giant scientist of hits
That make you jump like a lunatic
On pogo sticks,
waving your fists.
So, if you’re catching a fit.
I don’t really know but you
better scram,
Hurry in a double.
CHORUS:
It goes on
On and on and
on
Hell raising Hollywood
Welcome to Babylon
On and on and on and on
The party
don’t stop ‘til the
Mystery’s gone.
I’ve seen it all,
I’ll see it again.
I shake a lot of hands
But I don’t got a lot of
friends.
It goes on. On and on and on.
Hell raising Hollywood,
Welcome to
Babylon.
Live from the city of lights.
Sunny days and late nights.
Dope,
designer drugs, porn stars
And bar fights.
I drop. Makes the bells rock.
I’m
Mr. Shifty Shellshock
Call me the man of the hour
In the land of the lost.
Taking the
money and the power.
CXT, we hold our own
All eyes on us.
Crazy rise rain like
brimstone,
Kicking up dust.
I grab the mic with a firm hold
In a world of shattered
goals,
Pot holes, broke folks and
Bank roll.
Pole position.
Daddy rolling,
rolling causing Havoc.
So, ready set.
I’m more than set
Like Morissette, to
Maverick
Got a, she’s got to have it, habit.
Sick, I leave them
stuck.
I’m getting high for a living,
Not giving a
fuck.
CHORUS
I’m screaming out the call of the wild.
I’m
speaking in tongues.
I am the child of the sun.
The power of one.
I beat the
drums
Of the Crazy Town click.
It’s the third eye sitting on the tip.
Of the
pyramid flipped.
Now I see a little shotty,
Illuminatti front.
Dead bodies in my
trunk.
Unraveling the source,
I travel into self.
You gauge my wage
And then you
try to debate my wealth.
The consequences linger
And I’m fingering the
perpetrators.
Hey yo, my nature was bred
On the cross fader.
It’s the 7th
house.
Armageddon trudger.
Ready for death,
It’s the brimstone
slugger.
CHORUS |
