Sunday Sauce

[The Rum Diary (2011) Intro]:
- If filters, are the last in line in the destellation process, I contain more Ethanol than rocket fuel
- What's it like?
- With a hand on the brain, all for scale, 470 proof
- There's no such thing as 470 proof alcohol
- Certain team I may require mono rail, uh, no smokin' in the extraction area, I mean, please
- Don't be ridiculous

[Verse]:
Robot in a jacuzzi short circuited (Hahaha)
Curses twist words, deep poison saw cursive pen
Insert syringe, float like a corpse surfacin'
Clip law servicemen, we don't need your sеrvices
Knife for all purposes (huh?), makе you drink liquids
Not for consumption but could clean all surfaces
Gamble Dean windbreaker in Chino's, I'm all bent
Rum bottle, next to the typewriter, I'm Paul Kemp (Huh?)
Road money all spent, stashes in the wall vents
Smash hotels in Cali, Nikes in the wall dents
Punch heads towards the sun to smoulder
Doubled over, writtens on paper, blood upholstered
Muzzle loaders, paranoid trouble soldier
No more features from now on, they double covert (They're fuckin' spies)

[Interlude]:
- You just know that?
- Know what?
- Know that?
- The fuck, just what the fuck
- What's it smell?
- Death, this just smell like death
- Come on, man, you high
- Uh, shit, ohh, ohh, man, that's death, Lord forgive me

[Verse 2]:
Distillent sauce in bongs, sparkin' a snot
Chill in a harvest loft illin', and chartin' the drops
Half the sunday sauce at mom's in cigars with my pops
Fillin' jars with the swamp, brought the farm with the ox
Spillage ooze (hey!), Sicilian roots
Fittin' you and your chicken to the fridge, go chill with boo
You bootleggin', stealin' tunes
That's why, a severed leg still in boots
Books on how to kill a shroom (Rats)
Barbequein' human meat in the hills (Yeah)
All smogs, left nuthin' but teeth in the grill
At my wake, look at me in the bill (Yo)
Cookin' beats in the ruckerie with the quill
Don't look at me if you build (Don't look at me, man)