St. Ide’s

St. Ide’s

  Oh yeah, comin through with my Shaolin crew
  Two cent for a case, gimme St. Ide’s brew
  In the midst of broken bottles and crushed up cans
  Methtical’s in a jam on how dry I am
  … with St. Ides in my system
  crack another I’m blitzed, let’s go hit the next one
  Hang it over, the object is to stay sober
  Lay on the sofa, better yet, dial my chauffeur
  Who’s the Wallabee kid, stressed out, could never be Son
  Ricochet daily hit the deli for a cold one
  Naturally blessed, yes, my rap is like a laser beam
  that blow between the bushes, St. Ide’s and I the king of teams
  Crack the bottle of the St. Ide’s, sippin to those
  Who don’t realize that drinkin ain’t only to be drunk
  You can’t drive, keep my peoples alive
  And if the saint don’t know you from a can of paint
  It was hot, on the spot, so I jetted at the block
  And I asked for St. Ide’s, I could tell by the dot
  On the back he rebuilt it… not that charcoal filtered
  Ice cold bottle tilted… to my cup he spilt it
  AAAAAAAAAAH!!! ST. IDES! mmmmmmmmmmm


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