Blood in Throat

from by Forty Psychic Frames

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lyrics

FORREST:
Let the beat pop, never hold up
You got to let the dealer flop before you fold up
Drop top, Scurvy roll up some of that funky stuff to puff puff
This shit’ll knock you on your ass
Maybe put you in a trance
Musical romance
Second chance, make you dance
Shake your body like ants in your pants
Greatest thing I’ve ever known
Making my words heard through the amplification of a
microphone
My vocal chords are a megaphone
Get out of the way, in fact you never may match FoJay
This is a foray into the fray to the territory
of the rappers whose lame verses ruin the game
infecting listener brains and coating airwaves real thick like
a plague
And in the midst of this damn shame, enter the 40 Frames
Heal the sonic world like the rain

SCURVY D:
Time for change, change for time,
nothing really matters when you lose your mind.
Find your breaking point, toss some oil in the joint,
strike a match and get ready to anoint,
the illest crew in this whole damn game.
The DMT that lurks in your brain.
We’ll save you from shock.
We’ll save you from pain.
One encounter with us and you’re never the same.
I twist scripts with the mic in my fist.
I split sides with the jokes that I rip.
I guess you could say I’ve got a ton of lip,
but at the very least this cracker’s got wit.
Stand aside and slow your roll.
Your life is droll
and I’m the crook on the toll
taking your coin
with this sick ass flow
toss it up for my brothers ready to go

CHORUS:
Take a shot, slam it down, and you got blood in your throat.
Take a puff, pass it back to me, you got blood in your throat.
Get on top, girl, shake ‘em, scream my name, you got blood
in your throat.
Try to match the Frames at this game, you got blood in your
throat.

WYATT:
You cut through the skin, through the bone, through the vein
like a fork through a scone, like your hair through a comb.
It all went black when you laid your body down on railroad
tracks.
And just like that, it’s what you wanted!
Your arms torn apart, the house now haunted, your ghost
undaunted
by a horrible history (they blamed on me, but I know what
they never ever could see).
Your chest came loose after the caboose.
They found your shoes floating three miles down the Neuse,
untied, with the Sharpie colored lines on the outside, easily
identified with hearts with dots for the “i”s.
They found the rest of you underneath a box car:
a couple of teeth, two fillings and a postcard that you never
meant to send, never meant for anyone to read
except me.
That’s me.

ANTHONY:
Ant here, who else be showing up?
Blowing up, Hank Hill, propane.
Protip: Take the over on the Jets game.
My advice column in The Colonnade.
All these women in the mirror doing duck face,
Y’all need to knock it off; no botox.
If your man got a foot fetish, go toe sox.
Cut your hair off if you want to Goldilocks.
Style it quick, try your best to match your assets.
God forbid, don’t pump them shits with the plastics.
All natural, five stars, great tits.
Be yourself girl, ‘cause girl you’re the greatest.
Take six, in a minute you can do more.
Work horse, but don’t forget your man.
If that’s your plan, ‘cause you got me,
Anthony, make that oh face like you just won the lottery.

credits

from Monstrosity, released December 1, 2017
Features: Forrest Jameson, Scurvy D, Wyatt Furtherton, Anthony Jackson
Produced by: Wyatt Furtherton
Mixed by: Anthony Jackson

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