Crosshairs

The fat is in the fire, a fryer made of chicken wire
 Gettin' sick and tired of a friggin' liar
 Pelican, with some very soft mangoes
 A closet full of skeletons and terry cloth Kangols
 Flew the coop, before you hit it let me warn you
 She did a cool hula-hoop, but don't get any on you
 It's all a big scam, to make y'all eat pig ham
 When he's on the mic he's like the triggerman, FIGJAM
 DOOM, not to be confused with nobody
 Especially, since the flows he used was so nutty
 Never too woozy to go study, crews got no clues
 Like old cruddy Officer McGillicuddy
 Watch your six, he got a lot of more tricks
 Lyrics, bricks, on sticks sure got raw-nytics
 It's a gift, don't get shot for kicks
 With the same slick used to plot Sig Figs with
 Spotted at a chick flick, holdin' hands
 The other one on his swollen glands, a golden chance
 That's why he kept them holes in his pants
 Rollin' in a old van, is what he told his stolen fans
 Is that you? True. Matched from hat to shoe
 Snafu, snatch any brew, LaBatt's Blue
 Black jew like that's new, patch me through
 No latch attached, skat shoo, catch twenty-two
 Super, he's loaded dice nice
 And overpriced, an arm and a leg; owe 'em your life or your ice
 Villain, nag a grieving old hag
 Snag a bragger by his mic cord and leave him holding the bag
 Come clean, a bunch of dumb mean cream puffs
 A keen drum machine buff, who fiends for more green stuff
 Instead of starvin' there be problems by the goo gobs
 Aight - somebody's robbin' Lou Dobbs and them tonight
 And he's on the next flight, moonbound
 And makes it a point to stay away from the goon pound
 Got some peers, that's gone in the lost years
 Tears and cheers, born in the crosshairs