DESCRIPTION:
From the album 'BourgieBohoPostPomoAfroHomo
(sugartruck recordings, 2001)
©2001 Deep Dickollective LLC

Available on the album
"With The Key [Sissies]: The Very Best of Deep Dickollective"
(sugartruck recordings, 2012)

http://jubakalamka.bandcamp.com
http://www.soundcloud.com/jubakalamka
http://www.zazzle.com/sugartruckrecordings
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OFF THE HOOK (featuring Mitsu)
(Ampu/Overstreet)

Stop referencin' your prick and stuff!
It's an icicle cold world and you need to zipper your stick up
before my snickerbar hiccup nuclear nougat
on your fubu shirt if you flirt further before
your fallow brethren or allow severin' on the spot:
it's your preference whether or not.
Movin' on you little breeder motherfuckers mobilizin'
holdin' my holy huevos your bro had tongue-tied
trying to braid pubic hair like you don't need air!
Stop sayin' you the shit before I pack you, black!
Stop brownie-squirtin' the virtual or I'ma hurt you!
I'm the real deal McNeil Lehrer still here like Gaynor gay boy.
Put you on bloopers getting' swooped on by poofters schooled in
breaking your buttcrack up backwards as if Act Up in the 80's.
Hey ladies, I'ma stay soufflein' your third rate hustle
til I hurt a muscle. Unlikely.
On the way back to work from lunch
feel like acting like a motherfucking fool,
walking through a crowd of students and slappin they asses
sayin', "You can do it! Stay in school!'
You may refer to me however you like.
This nigga havin' no illusions when I'm on the mike.
I be the figga singin' wrong on this here love song.
Pause for the gladiator lustre on the chest of the
skater rushin' west so invested in pedestrian aesthetics.
Watch what you callin' this you flawed closeted
misunderstood woodgrain flaming fecal deposit

(G Minus/Mitsu dialogue)

'Minus' mean one fag less,
fresh off the gurney, returning,
funk-avengin', extra engine in the trunk,
unleashing shurikens for all the punks you've beaten!
Mad as Mother Earth's temple tensin' the peninsular
something seismic to keep the mike lit
like some torches chasin' heretics!
My therapist told me to tear yo' shit up! Nigga, what?!
Buck your silly poonstruck fool structure up
out the saloon for many moons.
Get my money or I'ma 'shroomcloud your room while
you pull out on my glossy fashion spread.
Natty and nappy natural on the head won't dread.
And hellraiser you to the bed. Like I said.