Lyrics of 'December Thirteen' by Acetylene Hayes

What kinda Animal I
Come around with a battering ram
And man will hammer and die
Come along motha fuka
What kinda animal I
Yeah what kinda animal I

And I sold my sold and I die
And I sold my sold and I die
And I sold my sold and I die
And I sold my sold and I die

Born with it, Lord now
Down with it, bring it on again
Bound with it, turn it on again
Down with it, kickin out the jams again

South Brooklyn Style
To feel the child move inside you, oh yeah
To feel the child move inside you, oh yeah

Get up, get work, get to work
I gotta get up, get working, get to work
I gotta crack the dawn and get going
Aint no time for being stoned
I gotta hit the door and Im goin, yeah
I dont got that layabout time
Cause mouths depend on me for their food
Mouths depend on me for their food

Check me out, Im not a rich kid
Check me out, come with the record now
Check me out, on the witch tit
Gotta rich kid tell me about phat

80 million drinks drunk strong
and Im getting along

80 million devils in the die

I sold my soul for a digital toll

Stick me out on a digital pole