throw some ****** coal in this steam locomotive
fueled by drugs, fame, money, *******, and notierity
all them girls know its me,
and some think its Reid,
but they not in the game
muhfuckas know my name (Charlie Sheen)

all these ****** uppers in my nasal passages
can't handle this
parents goin through my phone and they check my text messages
they like - "riddle me this
all you do is talk about drugs and spittin game on *******
when you gon make us proud son
you sling dope but we aint seen one
penny - and we gettin sick of it
not because your raps are ill
but because you're selfish
clean your room, do your homework, and get a job
or you'll be homeless
suckin **** for crack
and you don't want that
then you won't be able to attack and conquer
Make some change - cause you're drivin me and your father bonkers
and your ****** moniker is Reid Donovan not Charlie Sheen"

Uh...

And i be like...
"don't fret Mom, urrbody love me
i'm a terrorist droppin bombs on these rap songs
and one day
i'ma be rich as ****
all because i'm a genius
ballin, swag my *** out like Josef Stalin
and i dictate, reiterating as I weave my words so great
too late, to stop my hostile take over
i'll show her, how to ****** peddle and be stellar
mean smokin green
well up, runnin these streets
watch me take over the world
cause the name I sign my checks with is Charlie Sheen
I be, conducting
noxious, fallout as I spit
cause my saliva is toxic
white *** *******
but i'm still hood rich

We gon take over the world
while I'm on my Charlie Sheen ****
watch me stand tall
high above all the rest
see me on national TV
believe they'll remember me as the best
stick me with a knife
and watch me bleed liquid gold
nationwide tours, sold out shows
winning - throw my fastball
three strikes - all the oppositions out
wolf gang **** them all

and you know I be on those strikes
cause I aint about them ***** - no
I'm Charlie Sheen *****

I'm gon take over the world
while Mac Miller's getting mad
you're only seventeen kid,
how you write **** like that
Its because
the only present I ever got for christmas
was a big box of swag
just messin take some lessons

man i'm jonesin
8 am, gotta hankerin for a fixin
call the operator cause i'm on a ****** mission
big dave answers my call
and I reach those outer limits,
all he says is press pound and i'll connect you to the mooooon

When girls ask me if I be on that Charlie Sheen ****,
I just tell em no - I AM CHARLIE SHEEN *****

Huddling and cuddling I held you so lightly
Do you remember those cold nights my child?
You were mumbling and drooling, and cooed ever so slightly
When I pointed at the moon, you looked up and smiled

“Mooooon!” I said to you, to which you replied,
“Mooo!”
And then I laughed a little - and maybe - I cried
We’d shared an experience so unfathomable in consequence
And by naming it, to you I had lied

Will you forgive me my child, for that cosmic crime?
The moment when I stole that which shone in your eyes
When you echoed my mistakes reverberating in time
But ignorant, I wrapped you, so snugly in those dark skies

Do you remember those cold nights my child?

In this cold night, the moon has lit up full again
Only tonight, our bodies share not this blanket of lights
Disillusioned with disillusions we have become since then
But still I wish to unwrap you from the words I write

My child, I ask you, look up once more,
But let not facticity blindfold your sight
Feel that which language bids you withhold
And play I pray with the rabbit that lives in the sky

cool, just call me , we are juggling our sanity and the days like paper lanterns on rivers being used as paper weights for a days wages never paid,

and the walking dogs have all their leashes in a knot, but do not fret, I got this thing on a bet and a prayer,

with some help from good friends and one heck of a pinch hitter,
who brings the cows home on the bases loaded and the football bat is all out of whack and did it with a whiffle balled mad  hatter.  

as we are all a tasted disquieted and alarmed silently outloud of the load of horse **** and bravado  of the slightly deranged considerations to any being ******* the dead for their secrets ,

so yeah. But with our werewoof feet , Mohawk eyebrows in the alias mode of method of obfuscation uni-brows and mustaches, cause lets face it, with such stage as to fain the rain of a stain,

we need to rewind the kine and uncage the page of line after line of sweet *** whine, wine and more time blaze all the rage when beards don't do the trick in landing the babe with the need for a tree of good root and a wild spine eyed fool all hillbilly and too schooled in the dark arts of **** knuckling bad ways and stays into a gifted consorted construct while she sigh the not so **** shy, yes dizzy and high, and say, oh ****, who whoulda thought,

,, still I thought you would have been bigger,, like road house in the dancing days of rolling thunder and pouring blames mane all to educate mine eyes and teeth as to what is real to eat and all that is plastic fruit looking all to bitter sweet,  

including all the critters of varied skill, poise and swinging lawn mower blades like, biscuits and mustard, pathfinder style, calculator not needed but ****** is optional, and never forget the nuts that bolt all us fools into a clustered fuckery all betty crocker and country **** legs spread , I can't believe it's not butter said in the voice of Otis Redding ,

Signs of that sweet smile and of **** some body going to get a ******* tonight look in them eyes as they tool away and hint to my silly day and keep me on point like the six tossing a bloodhound a big round steak of shhhh, we are hunting rabbits here,

never mine us six foot white rabbit all werewoofed and donnie darkoed in our get the show on gear, lol, but ****, all that in such awesome packages as the friends and things in my head, all keeping me fueled in the art of war on the undead.

now this my friend is a day in the life of the It Squad, and we hit the **** like you cant quit the **** sqaud, so have a coke and a smile, laugh a while, we got this ****. ;-)  

What, I'm just shakin a spear at a bad bacon boy all francis nancy like... so funk yo skunk up son.

oh, da boy got the lo hold on the roll Soul, ****, son, swing lo sweet chariot, commin for to carry me no mo alone and in a **** good tone with a nice private home to give the good dog a bone.

So, yeah, weak like a good weeks hard glazy nights, all sir and silly, but you cant call me a lil *** ***** with my good hillbilly goofy eyed and swilly, Mooooon Shine on me .

Say love son, Yah to the Jah , Alma. cause you got tha soul sols, and if ya don't get this, then you don't have it. but we workin on that, right?