Artist: Souls of Mischief Album: Hiero Oldies Vol. 1 Song: Batting Practice Typed by: 1dsca@qlink.queensu.ca, pfrisby@uvic.ca * * Send corrections to the typist [A-Plus] Move over bacon, 'cause the swine is out the picture Switch the mixture, fix your eyes on the Mister Twisting necks, fixing bets when I'm cheating Getting many skins 'cause I been down with Ian (?) Ever since the clever hits I heard ever(y) word I used a Louisville Slugger for a sucker Duck a, little bit faster than the last men That have been up to Astor Ave., and then Asking 'bout the Souls of Mischief, beat 'em into the soil I'm cooking up your brain, feel the pain (until it boils...) Over the ????, you ain't got one to piss in yet If you've got a question, and it's "Am I dissing?" -- Yep I can energize if you're -ready like Ever was I'm ready as I ever will be, so chill, G Will the filthy dirty rotten scoundrel step If he does, then we can beat him to the ground and jet Most say, I'm the nicest person you'll ever meet Then fools step, but they slept on my clever treat One handy bat that's made of light steel Break a bone or two, and they just might heal back I want to get a little piece like Reese's But brothers are mad, because Ad(am) is the feces So A-Plus may just play Willie Mays And you better get wise, until Met really pays [Chorus (2x)] It's like this and-a, it's like that and-a I've got a Hieroglyphics baseball bat and-a It's like this and-a, it's like that and-a I swing a Hieroglyphics baseball bat and-a [Tajai] There's a crew (?) ???? on my shoulder, can I kill it? How can I maintain pain, blame a pan or skillet That's swung on the misty streets, all in a night's work Flights worn by you can keep my feet warm too Oo, you know _I Gots to Laugh_ like Cas(ual) did Bad kids are blinking, like "Curses! I'm worsted!" Your spidy-sense may tingle But my swing fills your head with cowbebs, so wake up, sleeper Slimly constituted yet I boot it and bruise some And flights just might get a tad bit gruesome Who's dumb enough to get stuck with the pitchfork? Rich give me name-brands and main mans call me Mork 'Cause I've got Mindy, to remove your Fendi Why call the cops, I sacks (sax) them hoes like Ken(ny) G. Silhouette's seen, and the next thing's blackness Attire robbery, or a kick from my Patricks Hat tricks, with my hockey stick, or a hole in one With a golf club and the soft love to run A gun ruins fun like parents, and a hot one Got one kid like me stepping, 'cause a weapon Should be club-like, but them thugs like to blast No sweatin', and Tajai can jets in (Jetson) like Astro Ask no questions, lessen your cash flow Fast though (?) the task (?) grows greater, later... [Chorus (2x)] [Opio] Opio is no Pinocchio, I never fib, kid Dib on your belongings when I'm longing for a new fit I am quite cunning, never _Running Man_ And I stand with a bat in hand, pants firmly planted in the sand Step to this, you'll sort of get swung on like a tire swing Or batted like Babe Ruth, lose a tooth If you try to bring anger to the wrangler You'll get strangled if you tangle with the terrible Bid farewell to jewelery, the same goes for cash flows Snatch those, catch those greenbacks Swing bats to dingbats I bring backs to knapsacks Reggie Jacks(on) can't match the switch-hitter, get a fit or two Split a few lips when I flips a pitch like Cy Young, die young Never ever try (?) one, soul is one that's mischievous I'll twist your wrist so wisen (?) up (?) Did you disrespect a father figure, took (?) your Rolex So heads (?) and solar plexus compressed as I flex Thugs hug my slugs brung from the Phillip Louis Through the, joint to the point of pressure and then smoothly Slipped off your valuables, you're mad I pulled another heist Smothered twice, thrice, I thrash men and mice My soul lies in my bat, I am one with my Easton Once I grip the handle, the vandal is released and Visions of viciousness are carried out with tactics, Slapsticks, but never comedy, it's _Batting Practice_ [Chorus (2x)] Aw shit! Hieroglyphics be tearing up shit! Hieroglyphics be tearing up shit! (4x)