Escape to 88 lyrics

[Scratches]
Who is this? Cage?
With a little message
The illest four letter word observe while I serve!
That's no question
Who is this? Cage?
Clips missin' from the gun
Cage Kennylz, back to the stage
Cause gun to forehead don't make em feel preachy

[Verse 1]
Welcome to a piece of brain tissue
My brain's lungs filled with octane like liquid that came from
Some silly set of tits sellin illy
Really? By the jar? Pump the car full of grey jelly
Called her Rhonda, after I sh*t on the dash
Cause I can't stand hooked up Hondas
The three maneuver so swiftly in and out of looters
Through checkpoints with juice in stashed coolers
2002, my album's played through
ID on the window like it's f*cking Beirut
Too bad no planes flew into MTV
I'll never get a platinum plaque for MP3s
Being blackballed by a white MC - Pause
I guess that faggot found the right MD
And I'm twisted but not like faggots that suck fame
This clown's insane I'm sicker with metal than Mudvayne
I train my following like a b*tch modelin
H is like a God and it won't stop hollerin
f*ck needing a TV to be a rockstar
Punch a hole through Mark Wahlbergs chest and dent a cop car
Put my brain in it, I wouldn't last a minute
Scribble some sh*t in 30, I'm loved like gimmicks
sl*ts, cynics, ducks with dipped spinach
f*ckin you up in the front row's good for image
[Scratches]

[Verse 2]
I got a walked on, half-eaten heart of a gorilla
That lost his family and wants revenge on his killers
Clapped the poacher, fled the stomach of rap through an ulcer
Covered in blood, eating with vultures
Off the chain it got a hook in its back
Scalded my feet breastfeeding, moms was cooking up crack
Drop me in a pot, cop me in the spot, pistols gleaming
In the sun, look son, I'm crystal fiendin
Nondescript, we're fleetin any malicious beatings
Specially after y'all left a couple b*tches breathin
Sixes breedin, bitterly gritty
Caught a GTA charge before Liberty City
Too bad no brains blew out no heads plenty
I'll probably die after I Blow like Ted Demme
There's no conspiracy, your b*tch is a forced fit
In the telly yelling "Behold the pale horse di*k"
f*ck the Taliban, I'm back to Ballys, and
Keep your little faggot brother off of Sally, man
I can explain it "do not cross this line" in my brain
Feds in the crib, but they're not finding the cane
Cause time in the game, New York is trife
My boy T on the lamb like a fork and knife
The corporate life, too fond of the blonde talker
So I grew a beard and switched sides like John Walker