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Pressure
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This was the last rap in our album-a-day, the only track where I did the beats instead of Spooch. We did it quickly since we had so little time left. We work well under pressure apparently.
nerdcore hip hop mc poncho
MC Poncho is the epitome of underaged, red-afro sporting, whiteboy nerdcore hip-hop rappers who live in San Antonio and also yoyo. None other who fit the descri
I am MC Poncho. I am a whiteboy rapper from San Antonio, Texas, and I have a humongous red afro. I rap. I like to think I rap well. I also like to lie to myself. Believe it or not, I'm only fourteen years old and I can talk comprehensibly on the internet.
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Alternative Hip Hop
Charts
#147,437 today Peak #1,372
#14,585 in subgenre Peak #100
Author
MC Poncho on lyrics/beat, Spooch on shoutbacks.
Rights
Neil Hughes
Uploaded
September 12, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 1.5 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
We didn't have much time left.
Lyrics
we've got 9 hours left, but spooch parents come in two hours use our few powers to reenact the battles from the two towers who grew flowers under the snow of a nuclear winter without reason, all the nuclear seasons, only nuclear because of one man's treason nothing left to believe in, we're grievin' over days gone by, and we combine our forces with our fears to bomb minds long lines filled with strong rhymes with samples coming at the wrong times an album in a day is just another way to snapshot my rap thoughts at specific points in my life, plan too far ahead and not at all, before what I said is my inevitable fall, the day I lose my gall, trying to avoid overused phrases amazes in all phases of the creative process when your soul's gone like jigsaw in crazes till you're jawless and godless, note how flawless and lawless my flow is, defining what odd is. Creativity is not a faucet, where you have a rhyme then you've lost it, when the innocent are doomed to sin again, but then again at bennigan's, we're served generous portions, and the hell-mouth opens, spooch's specifically, terrific, see, we're running low on ideas, organize my rhymes with ikea, does this make me a sellout? (yes, yes it does) crap. people don't handle new ideas easily, they gotta test the feasibility, the ease of killin me, the mutiny of one crew disputin' the subdued debates of how they hate their captain, my rappin' is a metaphor for your mother, the meta-whore (no yours)
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