Phantom Ghost - Backburner

Throw a quarter in the slot

Cause the force up north of the border’s getting hot

Ready for it or not, Steady blowing up spots

Four corner of the globe, the burner’s stirring the pot

Emergancy broadcast, stunners on face

We’re making your broads toss their undies on stage

Tom Jones, head honchos of the Gong Show

Laying down tracks, Halifax to Toronto

In the booth, I’m a killer like John Wilkes

Run it like Kim, Campbell, Mitchell or Jong-il

Unreal so you end up dumbstruck

Choke’s doing shrooms just to get the 1-up

Cameo bros, hit pipes, collect coins

Saving the game, like we reached a checkpoint

Export skills, let’s join the sideshow

Live shows with the sickest freaks that I know

I got a wait problem, I’m impatient

So I keep it moving and pumping like gym stations

You been waiting for the new, and here it is

So clear the skids for the lyricist for you peasant kids

Appearing at the the pyramids, riddle me this

Who’s sick with this, like a sniffling Mister Mxyzptlk

Chilling and grilling, some fiddleheads and some fiddlesticks

Ripping with the homies, taking out a little piss

Don’t get it twisted kid, about the flows and jokes, you know me!

Got nothing but love for all the love you show me

Backburner!

No rubber masks, just love for raps

And floating dope, like hovercrafts covered in grass

It’s the P-H-A-N-T-O-M!

It’s the P-H-A-N-T-O-M!

It’s the P-H-A-N-T-O-M!

It’s the G-H-O-S-T, go in!

Yo, it’s the big coffin, Hunter S. Thompson

Gozo with a strong wind, I return the second I’m called in

Murder relief pitcher, but once I’m in the game it’s clear

It’s hard to step to me, like you walking with feet blisters

My pixelated vision fits the integrated rhythms

Vice-Versa switching than I syncopate the system

Verse of vice, try to spit the verses nice

As all of my peers so I can get accustomed to this Backburner life

We keep keeping on, rap marathons, steez

Be continuous, not equipped with a pause screen

I grab mics, like I’m on my last life

Trying to put the final boss in the coffin, goodnight!

This is that showdown, you know, so

Remember the Alamo

Those Backburner bros

Known to be infallible

Baffle any battle-drones, smash with the palindrome

How powerful, these raps explode, like guns in Avarone

It’s mathematical, we pack the saddle dome

Crowd go bananas, cold-crack your cantaloupe

Smash grand pianos, and jam the manifold

These mad men and and animals, adequate with ample flow

Meet your maker, the death panel anecdote

We feed the aligators with scraps of rapper’s stealing quotes

It’s apropos that we lead them tho the land below

We’re savage, blow the (?), cabbage open, now the (?), yo!

Lyrical Nintendo Power Glove.

Punch!

Number of styles I have’s a number that you can’t crunch

Need 25 accountants from the (?) watching this

Start to rule over, when he’s on the track, rocking the (?)

Shaped like a Tardis, more in me than you saw on the outside

Your opinion’s that I’m a nerd?

Well, then you’re half right

My R&D — Research and Development

Are sunken to this trash and cashing to control for elements