Coup Piss On Your Grave Lyrics

(Chorus) 
Uhhhh!! 
I wanna piss on your grave! 
make me feel alright! 
Yaa Yaa Yaa!! 
(Repeat) 

While you was eatin' 
T-bone steaks 
in palatial estates, 
ornate with gates that automate 
so those you hate could only spectate, 
I was kissing my mate 
through iron grates 
while the guards wait, 
50 cent rate for making license plates. 
My papermate pen shakes 
vibrates from 808 quakes 
over breaks 
dug outta crates 
that sag from weight 
of the vinyl plates... 
girls work till they back ache 
and their breasts con't lactate 
you're laughin' to the bank 
smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes 
contesting, contesting 1,2,3 
never shoulda been put in the penitentiary 
Boots from The Coup would like to say 
I'll shove these foodstamps down your throat 
just to block your airway 
and that's the fair way 'cuz everyday 
you're on a moola mission 
military killin' millions 'til you low on ammunition 
bodies beyond recognition 
twisted complex positions 
then their kids work in your factories 
and die of malnutrition 
see your net profit stats 
hold some murderous facts 
but if you listen to the news you mighta 
heard it was blacks 
you got us herded in shacks 
I got the pertinent tax 
how 'bout the one for when I bust my ass 
and you relax 
I'll hit your head wit an axe 
play soccer wit' your brain 
to make it official 
slice your jugular vein 
still writin' songs that my momma could sang 
and if you feel some yellow drips on your skull 
it ain't rain. 

(Chorus) 
That bitch ass on the front of a buck 
never gave a fuck 
he forced his black women slaves 
to give him dick sucks 
and when he bust a nut 
he'd laugh and cackle 
let the leather whip crackle 
send 'em back to pick tobacco 
shackled 
wouldn't give 'em nil 
so his homies stacked bills 
fought on flatland and hill 
to keep the british out the till, scrill 
kept Washington dumpin' 'em in ditches 
so slave owning son of a bitches 
could keep their riches 
which is how the war got funded 
with two centuries of juice 
from Black slaves bodies 
and the profits they produced 
you could deduce 
that these men might win 
fit right in 
and make rights then 
just for rich white men 
so they quit fightin' 
and wrote up a declaration 
protective decoration 
for their business operations 
a gorilla pimpin' nation, no freedom - just savage 
now the whole world's ravaged 
from their hunger for the cabbage 
Your fifth period history teacher 
tellin' lies like a tweeker 
bump this song through the speaker 
watch they face get weaker 
'less they righteous and they kickin' the facts 
they gon' smile cuz this shit is on wax 
one thing I gots to ask 
George Washington down in hell can you see me? 
I'm standin' on your grave 
and I'm finsta take a pee-pee! 

Tour guide: Excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee? 
Boots: Nah, I said I love it here in D.C. 
Tour guide: Well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour. 
We're here at the Arlington National Cemetary. 
Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is standing, 
is the grave of of America's first and greatest hero, our first president -- 
Pants unzipping 
George Washington 
Piss hitting the ground 
Ohh, uh-uhhhh. 
Cameras click 

(Chorus) 
Knock knock muthafucka, yes once again 
I'll make you pay for your sins 
in the trunk o' your Benz 
see youse an always fitted 
always acquitted 
parasitic leech 
cain't be burned off my back 
wit' no fiery speech 
your hands is soft as a peach 
cuz you ain't never did work 
been rich ever since 
your daddy's dick went squirt 
have you ever hurt from your back? 
ducked from rat-a-tat-tats? 
seen your mama on crack? 
lived in a pontiac? 
drank baby similac 
so you could have protein? 
(just for enough energy 
to hustle up some mo' green?) 
I could paint some mo' scenes 
vergin' on the obscene 
but I'd rather show up at your palace 
with a mob scene 
I spoke to my accountant 
who spoke to my attorney 
who counseled my financial advisor 
on a gurney 
it's about fifty dollars 
and that's almost like a sale 
cuz it costs too damn much 
to let your rich ass inhale 
true liberation ain't no word in the head 
I'm yellin' murder 'em dead 
for some fish, steak and bread 
you pay me 10 g's a year, 
I pay you fifteen million hun'ed??? 
Sorry, you just ain't in the budget... 

(Chorus)