Money is the root of all evil, so they say
I got evil comin' out my cookie, lookin' to get paid
Never wanna be broke again. I can't stomach it
Stack up my dividends, I'm straight runnin' it
Go and cop a bird, and chop it up in little bits
Go on OnlyFans, and sell you pictures of my tits
Got you simpin' hard. Don't need a pimp, I got your credit card
Not on my knees, I'm gettin' cheese
I'll drain you like a reservoir
Maybe pull a lick, and fool this trick out of his chains
Maybe buy a brick of that shit they call cocaine
Make these junkies flip, and take a trip out of they brains
Countin' beans and packin' green
I am the queen of stackin' gains
When I was younger I was hung up on the shit I couldn't have
A car, a crib, a sober dad
a 45, a heating pad
A bird, a tone, a brick
A knife to chop off hater's dicks
A pair of Nike Jordan kicks
A Jesus on a crucifix
Now I'm 20, drinkin' Henny with the thugs
I'm making' plenty makin' stangs and sellin' drugs
Now I'm ready to pour salt on all the slugs
Gettin' ghetty on the steady
'Cos the streets ain't got no love
And if it's love you want, then get out of the game
If you wanna live then stay out of my frame
And if you die, bitch, then there's no one else to blame
They sheep, they need a shepherd
Lady Ehepr is my name
The paper chase is never-ending, it goes on and on
The marketplace, the relay race, it is a marathon
This ruthless game, it will sustain, after you have gone
Vicious, and malicious, and delicious like a chocolate prawn
Now you younger fools that look up to the lady
Sportin' jewels, and breakin' rules, and being' shady
You got the biscuits, but you still ain't got the gravy
Ready rocks can make your pockets mighty weighty
If you see a mark, you can try and start a stang
You a matriarch, you can be part of my gang
If you a fuckin' narc, from my nuts, ho, you can hang
You can try and jack, but I come back just like a boomerang
I am an alchemist, I'm turnin' sugar into gold
I am a sorceress, and I got the stranglehold
On the premises, a fuckin' nemesis so fuckin' cold
A murderess, you heard of this. The game is to be sold
And I don't need no man, I can do shit on my own
Got a master plan, I got a mask, I got a tone
Maybe rob a bitch, or pick up my microphone
Maybe sell the dope beats on the streets that I call home
And that's how I do, I'm killin' fools, and stacking' cheese
And I'm not like you, I'm drinking' lean, and smokin' trees
Gotta make a pile, mane, it ain't no mystery
I'm in it for the riches, all you bitches pay my fees.
De l'importance du titre ou Comment une juxtaposition de mots savamment choisis permettra à l'auditeur attentif de repérer chez Old Nick une transition vers un cadre spatio-temporel plus proche de l'ère victorienne gothique, confirmée par les clavecins et cuivres au synthé, mais aussi de parodier le contexte susmentionné, parodie amplifiée par un raw black metal chaotique : un essai au sujet de T.N.O.T.A.A.T.P.B.T.Q.A.S.F.A.B.O.O.T.D.O.S.S.T.T.E.V.H.S mené par Sir Jordan Vauvert en l'an 2024. Jordan Vauvert
Having shacked up with Del and MF Doom, production powerhouse Parallel Thought now collabs with streetwise MC Bentley. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 5, 2016
Je ne sais pas exactement comment traduire le titre Flying Ointment. Ma première hypothèse, c'est "Pommade qui donne la faculté de voler" et elle fait sens parce que le synthé a un rôle plus important ici et, malgré quelques phases cauchemardesques, les ambiances sont mystiques et libératrices. Mais, sachant que Old Nick prend un malin plaisir à rendre ce remède inaccessible, caché derrière un raw black metal technique (practitioner arrache tout !), il s'agit peut-être d'une "Pommade volante"... Jordan Vauvert