Rhinestone Cowboy

"Great stuff"

"Yeah, this is-, this is good"

"Great stuff"

"Ahh, oh yeah"

Hold the cold one like he hold a old gun

Like he hold the microphone and stole the show for fun

Or a foe for ransom, flows is handsome

O's in tandem, anthem, random tantrum

Phantom of the Grand Ole Opry, ask the dumb hottie

Masked, pump-shotty, somebody stop me

Hardly come sloppy on a retarded hard copy

After rockin' parties, he departed in a jalopy

Watch the droptop papi

Known as the grimy limey, slimy, try me blimey

Simply smashing in a fashion that's timely

Madvillain dashing in a beat-rhyme crime spree

We rock the house like rock 'n' roll

Got more soul than a sock with a hole

Set the stage with a goal

To have the game locked in a cage getting shocked with a pole

Overthrow 'em like throwing Rover a biscuit

A lot of bitches think he's overly chauvinistic

Let go his dick if that's the case

Rats, what a waste, there's more cats to chase-

Dogs, he got it like new powers

Woke up, wrote and spit the shit in a few hours

Sheesh! Been unleashed since the glee club

Had your fam saying, "Please make me a dub"

Well, since you ask kindly

Where he been behind the mask, who can't find me?

You're blind, in the wine zone, leave your mind blown

When he shine with the .9, he's a rhinestone...

Cowboy

No, no, no, no enough

Goony goo-goo, loony cuckoo

Like Gary Gnu off New Zoo Revue, but who knew

The mask had a loose screw? Hell, could hardly tell

Had to tighten it up like the Drells and Archie Bell

It speaks well of the hyper base

Wasn't even tweaked and it leaked into cyberspace

Couldn't wait for the snipes to place

At least a tracklist in bold print typeface

Stopped for a year

Come back with thumbtacks, pop full of beer

We're hip-hop sharecroppers

Used to wear flip-flops, now rare gear coppers

He's in it for the Quiché

You might as well not ask him for no free shit, capiche?

Oh, my aching hands

From raking in grands and breaking in mic stands

Villain, his smile stuns ya chick

While he put himself in your shoes run ya kicks

You heard it on the radio, tape it

Play it in your stereo, your crew'll go apeshit

Raw lyrics, he smells 'em like a hunch

The same intuition that tells him "spike the punch"

Curses, he's truly the worsest

With enough rhymes to spread throughout the boundless universes

Let the beat blast, she told him wear the mask

He said you bet your sweet ass

It's made of fine chrome alloy

Find him on the grind, he's the rhinestone cowboy

Sometimes they were comedic, or relentlessly horrifying

They were the foes of society, whether fighting the local sheriff, or a secret agent

Frequently they mirrored our times

The gangster villains which rival real newspaper headlines of the present day

Collectively, they are the components

Which have fueled nightmares for decades to come

The villains