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The Confessions Of A Misogynist
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I love this f***in' song.The insipration comes from various westerns, particularly one of a cowboy who did nothing but beat woman. So this one is a tale of a cowboy misogynist, kind of. Just listen.
hiphop rapmusic marshall beattie shaler millvale
A vibrant, new rapper from Pittsburgh. Still perfecting his craft. Provides comedic energy as well as serious thought provoking lyrics his music. A real eye-ope
It all started when I was about 11 or 12. I would freestyle on the bus just jokin' around and such. My first song I ever recorded was called Big Balls In Your Soup (code for teabaggin') and it is LITERALLY an instant classic around here to the 75+ people in my old school of Shaler who bought the tape. The tape was meant to be a shocking, fucked up look at the mind of Bradster X, and it was fucked up nonetheless. Teachers were appaulled at the things I would say, as were students and parents. I sold/gave away this mixtape (which is mostly on this website) called 04-05 Sessions. Some of the shit was older than '04 but whatchagonnado. Visit Myspace.com/bradsterx for new songs I'm workin' on now for the new mixtape. Keep in mind, this is for fun. In no way and I'm trying to be "hard" to any extent of the word. Some songs are more on the serious side but majority of my songs are tongue-in-cheek tunes. It's meant for entertainment and it's fun for me to do and honestly, I'm probably better than half you mother fuckers reading this shit anyway so kiss my ass for hating.
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Hip Hop General
Charts
Peak #636
Peak in subgenre #358
Author
Brad Marshall
Rights
2005
Uploaded
October 24, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.9 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
I love this fuckin' song.The insipration comes from various westerns, particularly one of a cowboy who did nothing but beat woman. So this one is a tale of a cowboy misogynist, kind of. Just listen
Lyrics
On my waist is a holster which holds two post its On each gun so I know which one is loaded The other is just a blunt object Used to smack the face of the female who said I was the softest There's many men amongst us, who can't out run The speed of a bullet, so there best is outdone Never control it, my thoughts while this trigger is pulled are thus Thought to be insane, from the pain I cause your organs I don't go for the face 'cause it's safe to say you'd pass away to quickly I go for the stomach, so I can look at your face while your blood runs on the carpet I leave the Saloon unharmed 'cause you're harmless I left the place with no charges, hopped on my stallion My emotions were so God damn soothing It felt like somethin' out of an old western movie (It's like one of them old westerns All you hear is the sound of the gun The guns aren't fake like wrestling So when you hear that sound you better run On my hip, switchblades..man you and him, switch places, I'll stab 'em in the face Sip JD whiskey on my porch, get tipsy and police reports ...just like one of them old westerns) At this time I had a girl named Cindy I could say she was better than the air I breathed in me Recieved plenty of love and care throughout But all she ever did was open her mouth Give her backhands to the head when we fuck on the couch Without a doubt, she seemed to bake bread between her legs That'll get ya backhands to the face (pay attention mother fucker).. Everytime I have a drink I start out with four shots When I fuck I wear protection that's stronger than Fort Knox Because this girl had more turns than door knobs Cocked back my arm, when she fell the floor rocked I'm not a wife beater, it's the clothes that I'm wearin' I look the opposition in the eyes when I see you starin' Not a care in the world I swing a right with all my might into the left eye of your girl (It's like one of them old westerns All you hear is the sound of the gun The guns aren't fake like wrestling So when you hear that sound you better run On my hip, switchblades..man you and him, switch places, I'll stab 'em in the face Sip JD whiskey on my porch, get tipsy and police reports ...just like one of them old westerns) I take another drag of my cigarette As I look back at my accomplishments I'm not a novice yet, I'm a rookie at best I have too much pride, I can't swallow it I maintain my placement, remain jaded My spirit is replaced with my penmanship So bitter you can't taste it, I continue fadin' away Like I was bein' chased away by gay bandits Hold out your hands, an try to catch it, my message You can't match it, my style is blessed with The essence of God, the presence of Satan Lack of patience, the rage it builds like I was locked in cages It's just one of them, long hard days when Things don't seem to go your way and let's face it They never do, break the levee and let the water through Hold the barrel to your chin, bada-bing-bada-boom It's like one of them old westerns All you hear is the sound of the gun The guns aren't fake like wrestling So when you hear that sound you better run
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