Piss On Your Grave Lyrics

Contesting, contesting 1,2,3
Never shoulda been put in the penitentiary
Boots from The Coup would like to say
I'll shove these food stamps down your throat
Just to block your airway


And that's the fair way 'cause every day you're on a moolah mission
Military killing millions till you're low on ammunition
Bodies beyond recognition, twist in complex positions
Then their kids work in your factories and die of malnutrition

See, your net profit stats hold some murderous facts
But if you listen to the news you mighta heard it was blacks

You got us herded in shacks, I got the pertinent tax
How 'bout the one for when I bust my ass and you relax

I'll hit your head with an axe, play soccer with your brain
To make it official, slice your jugular vein

Still writing songs that my mama could sang
And if you feel some yellow drips on your skull, it ain't rain

[Hook]
Uhh
I wanna piss on your grave
Make me feel alright
Ya, ya, yow
Your fifth period history teacher telling lies like a tweaker
Bump this song through the speaker, watch they face get weaker
'Less they righteous and they kicking the facts
They gon' smile cause this shit is on wax

One thing I gots to ask

George Washington, down in hell can you see me?
I'm standing on your grave and I'm finsta take a pee-pee

[Interlude]
Tour guide: Excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee?
Boots: No, I said, "I love it here in D.C"
Tour guide: Well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour
We're here at the Arlington National Cemetary
Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the Afro is standing
Is the grave of America's first and greatest hero, our first President


George Washingt..
[Sound of pissing]
Ooh uh uh
[Cameras click]

[Hook]
Uhh
I wanna piss on your grave
Make me feel alright
Ya, ya, yow

Uhh
I wanna piss on your grave
Make me feel alright
Ya, ya, yow

[Verse 3]
Knock knock, motherfucker, yes once again
I'll make you pay for your sins in the trunk of your Benz
See, you's an always fitted, always acquitted parasitic leech
Can't be burned off my back with no fiery speech


Your hands is soft as a peach 'cause you ain't never did work
Been rich ever since your daddy's dick went squirt

Have you ever hurt from your back?
Ducked from rat-a-tat-tats?
Seen your mama on crack? Lived in a Pontiac?

Drank baby Similac so you could have protein
Just for enough energy to hustle up some mo' green?
I could paint some mo' scenes verging on the obscene
But I'd rather show up at your palace with a mob scene

I spoke to my accountant, who spoke to my attorney
Who counseled my financial advisor on a gurney
It's about fifty dollars, and that's almost like a sale
'Cause it costs too damn much to let your rich ass inhale

True liberation ain't no word in the head
I'm yelling, "Murder 'em dead!" for some fish, steak and bread
You pay me 10 g's a year, I pay you fifteen million hundred?!
Sorry, you just ain't in the budget

Look at the birdie, now

[Hook]
Uhh
I wanna piss on your grave
Make me feel alright
Ya, ya, yow

Uhh
I wanna piss on your grave
Make me feel alright
Ya, ya, yow

Uhh
I wanna piss on your grave
Make me feel alright
Ya, ya, yow

Uhh
I wanna piss on your grave
Make me feel alright
Ya, ya, yow

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About

Genius Annotation

Boots' viciously funny revenge fantasy about, um, doing the titular action on people who deserve it, including our first President. For the full comic experience, listen to the skit that proceeds this song on the album, which climaxes with Boots pissing on the still-warm body of fictional tycoon “Philthy Richbanks” at Richbanks' funeral

Q&A

Find answers to frequently asked questions about the song and explore its deeper meaning

Credits
Produced By
Written By
Release Date
November 10, 1998
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