You're digging for your ore in the days of yore
We've forgotten we're rotten to the core
Whether the weather is hot on the shore
We sure feel like we've rapped before
Holy spit this is more like a civil war
Therefore there is moor gore in store
For the poor soul poured forth from the pores
No sweeter sweat has soared from the sore
Foot in poetic feet to settle a score from the days of yore.
