Jonathan Toth from Hoth performing LIVE at "The Demo" in St. Louis, Missouri, USA

"Love and Carbs"
Empty, useless, tempting, ruthless
unless I’m on a marathon…(et tu Brutus?)
Not, likely, but they’re so piping hot,
why not get greedy for the barabonds?

I’m playing cards, and I gotta pair of ones,
but I don’t like carbs, they’re no fun.
I overindulge in my love and she
comes, to part where I play stud,

but carbs don’t care, they play dumb,
and practice warfare upon my tastebuds.
I get fooled again and again by a
fiend who pretends to be friends.

My heart is with her, as well as my body,
so my member loves me and our coitus leaves us
throbbing, but I got carbs on me, and it
may sound paranoid, but it feels like they’re watching,

cause carbs ride like mother hens,
and carbs lie like governments,
promised one thing, get some other shit,
straight hatin’ shit, like a bait-and-switch,

like bacon strips with more bacon strips,
mixing bacon grease up in the meat glue,
then adding bacon strips and more bacon strips,
maybe some Jack Daniels and Jim Beam too.

Paradise! Am I right?
Or am I dead wrong like a sweat shop?
I’ll trade a pound of herb for a pound of this
cellulite…(you’re disgusting) yeah, you’re right,

but I feel like a man when I eat flesh,
and if it’s not beer, I feel less,
less piss, less buzz, less fizz, what had
happened was that 6-pack moved in my gut,

as if it made the cut. Ay!
I wasn’t made to sit around, I was made to cut,
so unless I make the runs or do 88 sit-ups,
I make the love handles practical. Baby, saddle up!

She hangs on tight by her ankles,
and aligns her spine to find the right angles.
I go further and farther than I’m able, and
when she yells, I can tell she’s been doing cagles.

She’s a thriller, like I was watching cable,
and I just lucked into her, like I was flipping channels.
When she gets hers, the outcome is fabled, my
inner stallion hops the fence and enters the stable,

Next morning, we’ll be eating bagles.
DOH! You know that dough is stuffed with those f-ing a-holes,
so’s tomatoes and potatoes, con queso and gelatos,
How do I drop those and not feel so wasteful?


"This Just In"
This just in, I haven’t used my MPC
since well before 2010,
(gasp), shame on me, or them? Since when has
that MP3 static ever managed to become a friend?

I’ll stick to tape hiss and record drops, I
may dig the concept, but the process takes too long,
like turning up that sample too hot, to
give that beat box more snap, crackle…

Pop-and-lock crates full of tapes that never made the cut,
hating to wade thru dust, cause my nasals just can’t
take the stuff. Hay fever sucks.
I blame Monsanto, send letters and get paper cuts.

Guess what? They’re not even worth the worry, inter-
net trolls couldn’t seem to make it to Missouri.
Good, I’d rather make friends with the Earth, hurry,
it’s only so often you see your 10th anniversary.

Hear ye, hear ye, FF is in effect, and if you
step, I’ll refer you to the Matrix and a glitch.
No shit, like sewing up your ass-lips, or
bemoaning the fact that your man sucks a glass dick.

Better than plastic, at least it’s not metallic,
however you style it, it still spells out phallic.
No Homo…phobia, it’s childish,
Go back to your annalist for more analysis.

Smoke some cannabis, if you can’t handle it,
even my make believe doctor said, “that’s some natural shit.”
Take a toke, chill out and get back to shit,
If you’re into acid, it’ll land you from a bad trip.

Rest in peace George Carlin and Bill Hicks, the
only Zombies I’d ever dig to come back to this.
Because they never lied to their management,
Unlike every other presidential candidate.

So God bless our president and thank God for
Having him, we got a new commandment, Thou shalt
not let FOX attempt to slander or dismantle him.
Turn it off until Rupert Murdoch is handed in.

And throw in Rush and Sean Hannity,
Glenn Beck and Sara Palin, for the sin of vanity.
Give the Nobel Peace Prize to Brad Manning, and
A few Pulitzers to Julian Assange and them,

WikiLeakers who brought the news back again,
Who knew we’d get sick of too few facts within,
coming soon, USA outlaws war too,
lobbyists, government pensions and fast food.


"On to the Next One"
Attention, ladies and
gentlemen…It’s officially
the tenth anniversary, of the
Frozen Food Section…
but check it,

It’s been short and sweet, I started with a
mic stand stuck in collapsible seat,
recorded St. Louis heat, including my own.
First summer, had no A/C, I shoulda known,

Wash U was running slum lord game, to
justify the really low rent I had been paying (I grandfathered in)
I would’ve stayed, but then it was raised
every year after. I guess gentrification pays…

speaking of which, I make beats.
Somebody bring me in some money please…

Kanye and Jeezy, Jay-Z and Weezy,
can it be, they really make it this easy?
Passive income’s a must, let’s win some,
benefit quick and then it’s on to the next one.

I had my MPC, and used it non-stop, but
once I got ProTools…it was on dog.
Helias gave me his SP-1200, then
DJ Massive took it to the pawn shop the next summer.
(bye-bye)
There was Tucker, freestyling on the Loop til, he
pissed off the staff of Vintage Vinyl and Blue Hill.
Wow…such hostility. So he’d just
pick up his tip cup and get krunk across the street,

but what would you expect from a battle dude?
Shit, that dude’ll rap for food,
but some are just dumb, or too stuck up, and
friends like Kerm just wanted him to shut the fuck up,

or drive all the way to St. Peters to get some,
oh well…on to the next one.
Luckily, Jules stayed in U-City, the
Shore was open 24/7, usually.

Space was at the airport, O’Shea was further west,
Black Patrick had it, but was difficult to connect with.

Attention St. Louis, the Cooler is
moving from the heart of the Loop to Brentwood
Missouri…
well, there’s mostly white people here, but don’t worry,

just stay off Manchester and Brentwood Ave,
and don’t even ride over here ‘til you get your tags.
Driving dirty gets you pulled over in a hurry.
Mike at the Overland Midas’ll get it fix’d in a hurry.

The first court case I caught here was a damn lie.
They said I was disturbing the peace with my half pipe.
The prosecuting attorney lived down the street.
The judge said, “move that shit, or I’ll pronounce a fee.”

So it was on to the next one.
Jabari took my baby, now it’s his step son.
All it needed was a new layer of masonite,
four years later, it’s still got the same old plys…

but that’s the St. Louis life,
shit doesn’t change here, but like maybe twice,
that’s when you meet the city for the first time,
the second happens when you’re recognized.

Remember when Nelly dropped “Country Grammar” in ’99?
I was at the bar with a friend of mine…