Hook
Amassin copious stashes of aerosols under jackets
A grain of salt for the masses, a train assault with a passion
Full system architect with a marker dacked
Full system architect and a Belton strapped

Verse One
My faves on insides are thirties, and easy version to murder'em with
I'm servin'em and leave'em like a dirty bitch
We run through carriages like psych patients, station to station
Layin waste without hesitation, and patiently waitin
For loop stations, connectors to other sectors
This paint equates to my respect, my mindset's to get up
Across this MET and get up, we put the Buff in check, ha
We show you fuckers how we do it and we earn respect
I've popped more guardies than half'yas, and penned more blinds than Braille classes
I run through changing doors faster, than nine eleven disasters
True stains are Blacktop, Raven oil as a backup
Hitachi yeah, runnin through these toys like a fucken Mac truck
Slaps and stentz we represent Burn City hard as nails
The heart of this train bomber's galve artisan
Break in at high tide, Hitachi homicide
And layup six car suicides, wise guys we bomb insides

Hook

Verse Two
We surface outside, we've got the backpacks
Caribees packed fat with flat blacks, and topped with German fat caps
Montanas and Laks, bringin T to B's back
Requirin paint racks to fill milk crate stacks, draped in the Mac Pac
To reach'em, dark train doors I pop'n breach'em
With circle P's up high, reluctantly the lasting feature
From Hillside run-ups and downtown to Bayside lay-ups
We stay up late to paint the steel, we're Melbourne's players
Of nighttime games in yards remain the same
And stake my claim, Entropy One hard in the paint
This loudmouth bomber from suburbs of down South
Almost a tonne under this belt, all my galves are hell bound
And if ya know it, the rush of burnin up the steel when ya feel it
The only thing that really matters is keepin it real
And that's that, the fucken name of the game
The silent sport of the galves and every victim's a train, what

Hook(x2)