They said to write from the heart, that parts like a secret weapon So the pen I work with writes words at 70 beats per second...

And that wasn't even the half of it... so here's the rest...
had to clear the air, it's best... for me to speak on a leveled tone...
Hard as a rock, an earshot from where the pebble's thrown
Outspoken enthusiast, crystal clear in his beveled zone...
Heading home now... grown child has to eat his words...
And he doesn't do it often, so on the surface he seems malnourished (think about it)
They said to write from the heart, that parts like a secret weapon
So the pen I work with writes words at 70 beats per second... (think about it)
Metaphors... when you see it come...
My statistic for meta(fours) in a 16 are 3 to 1 (3, 2, 1) every interval...
That's half metronome drum loop in a flow...
I'm like the... harmony embodied, the truth you don't know...
Nah.. I'm not that, I'm just speaking freely so I can say...
I don't got the drive today, even if it does ride away...
My momentum is my toupee... floating on the top...
While the play, in the park with their bicycles like Skylar Grey

She'll spread faster than a ridiculous rumor... When I stick my dick in her womb and open that rippled cocoon up...

YEAH, these kids live the fairytale lives, it's fictional...
I mean, how the hell could we perceive what they've written you?
Fucking aye, tired a rap... I'm firing at...
anything in close proximity... cause I hate it all, man...
need a fall plan... through the shot glass of life...
I beg for forgiveness, I ask for the light...
then I get slashed faster than the Passion of Christ...
But I'm a partisan though... no, I'm an artist, in full..
Just messed up... but guess what?
I still got love for all of this text stuff, n' don't care to suggest uh...
other method of spitting... never getting a written
to be splurged on this fucking page, until it has my nuts displayed...
I am a nut, you say... not appalled by that...
I ball, where's Spalding at? Looks like I called him back.
The mystical river of risking a liver to my influence...
eying Students outside the locker rooms, I was surprised to do it...
Idling in the drive way of the dorm, waving Hi through the room and...
Telling your 18 year old daughter to suck the tip of this broom stick..
So I can stick it in her clit and then move it...
Yeah, freaking maneuver the handle inside of that bitch, till it's skewered...
She'll spread faster than a ridiculous rumor...
When I stick my dick in her womb and open that rippled cocoon up...
Yeah, a nasty boy. That I leave that ass destroyed...
Right from the back, deploy a "C'MON", like I'm Pastor Troy...
"Mommy, what's that?" -- then I chime in with my rudeness
by saying that their mommy is a whore... the way she's on the floor...
Give them all a tour... yeah, where is my manners?
Hiding behind the parents, my answers would leave you embarrassed, like dancers...
Who forget their steps... a dizzying array
of evil, built in an unorthodox hierarchy... I'm bored...
Waiting for my girl to come over, so I can move my hand...
Right over her Redbox faster than the Movie Stand...

I get that high when I rap to fly and attack my mind's a trap of Jigsaw puzzles that configure rhymes right off the bat

So to make up my mind? I won't add to that mundane ritual...
That 6 second clip obsession from most individuals
spending their time on world star, posting up comments...
And not doing shit with their lives, but promoting the nonsense
I can scope my subconscious... right down to the soul underneath
and deliver crushing blows to those that jumble their speech
But I'm not about that... I'd rather just, open up the mouse trap
Let em' scurry off to get eaten up by the house cat.
I wanna rap until the curtain call is purposeful...
I want my omnipresence to flirt the room when the verse resumes...
I get that high when I rap to fly and attack
my mind's a trap of Jigsaw puzzles that configure rhymes right off the bat
Yeah, Louisville Slugger... figure it's a rapping phase..
Until you're swinging wildly inside of my mental batting cage...
Agnostic, the rap prophet. Followed religion, then backed off it.
From the black market preachers teaching outside
to the frat mosh-pits. To the dance songs that lacked conscious --
flavor, savoring past hot hits for cash conquests...
Yeah... fight for the feeling puts you right through the ceiling..
I got this mic that I'm wielding like a knife to your children...
Sticking up their social norms, corrupting the youth
With soul reverb sound kicking up in the booth..
It's all chuckles and fun till the knuckles just come out of nowhere and fuck up your gums
Beyond comprehension. That's your brain I plan to knock some sense in.
I hate the one linear outlook of life
So I deal with several dimensions when I pick up this mic
Lifting it like a dumb bell. Grunt, yell, drop the weight down...
One punch to your grill make your whole face round...
If that's the case, clown? I'm done with this shit...
Frank Castle on my motherfucking Punisher shit...

why... are you trying to stop its unwinding subconscious? This is the mind trying to find in his conscience a working example of talent being worth placing the slack on the perch of the ant hill...

From the darkest night to the lightest day...
I write in a quite decisive way... like the Sensei with his sword... swiping his prey...
Cause a type of delay of type - primitive mights get decayed...
Right on display for me to see... before I dismember that, easily..
Back fully erect... I bully the giants... liken...
my attitude to a lycan of folklore... howl till my throats soar...
tonsils shrouded in pain... I go for...
the elegance shown in my intelligence, hone
a magnum that'd have Tom Selleck disowned...
Word... I roam where the Elephants roam...
Elevating the veteran zone, speaking in a menacing tone...
His lower torso's wondering if the head's its own...
Or just a living chemical shown upon the residence of his neck, like his home...
Oh... they breathe life in this shit? Ways of enjoyment...
to display an art form that's been fatally poisoned...
I echo the sentiments of those who enrich the design...
Of the Hip Hip aesthetics, saying the music is still in its prime...
Yeah, syllables rhymed... wordplay...
a mountain I'm willing to climb, if you feel it... then why...
are you trying to stop its unwinding subconscious?
This is the mind trying to find in his conscience
a working example of talent being worth placing
the slack on the perch of the ant hill...
I say that Earth's a stand still...
people moving at vein... still trying to prove
their acclaim through music by doing the same
shit of those ruling the game... nothing intuitive, aim
for the formulaic approach they've set up
from the get go... the fucking train's like a Metro...
But that's the name of the threshold..
We got the wane of potential for attaining a press code
into the game of those saying their special...
Nah...
That's the lies that they weave, they try to conceive
this stupid bullshit code to follow, and promote it to no tomorrow.
I'm sorry for that.... I can't cope...
slipping off this damn slope... I think that template's a No Man's Land scope...
Even if you succeed in breaking the mold, there's no way to behold..
the baton for the generation to come after, these dumb rappers
are just... shoes to fill... all of you are prey
the music guild's an exclusive bill of rights for the politicians on who to kill...
But what's truly real? (reel)... yeah, double entendre...
cause dude's who feel like they got a (shot)... are (on a roll)
like a Movie Film...

like Alex Trebek... watch the chain reaction crash Rome to where the chalice reflects the destruction of my challenge to any talent that's left...

Yeah, that's what they're telling me...
They're celebrities in their mind... but I pry upon the cranial passage and place those thoughts into jeopardy
like Alex Trebek... watch the chain reaction
crash Rome to where the chalice reflects the destruction
of my challenge to any talent that's left...
Placing the mediocre from the balance, I've stepped
Conquer the reign... positively moderated the claims...
See no dominate aim... at me... remain happy... acknowledge the plain
ebonics, attain the dialect of the Gods of the Game...
It isn't plausible to knock me. Got me?
with Street Smarts... that's intellect rooted in hoods where no Degree is shown...
Lynch mobs and hangings on the wall, where history is known...
His story? his own.... living on a matter of principle...
Visible angst to the miserable lengths, I push the boundaries of which they hold...
But to be honest, I'd rather detail
the rate of travel, the scale I'm weighed on would shatter upon impact
of the mass that I hail...

This where the winners lie... in a pool of their blood... Giving em' an outlet... the entire movement's unplugged... You're in a room wit' a thug... my influence above the worst of the addictions, see crack as a Nubian drug...

Word... a couple lines... is all that it takes...
till the acknowledge the weight I hold in every bar that I make...
then they realize,"wow... he really is the truth"
I'm like, "Hell yeah!" on some Dre shit... back to the wording...
He's not a god, he's an actual person...
who's graduated with top honors after emerging...
From the tavern of dark mystery... magic, a marked Mentalist...
tragic, I spark sentences... havoc, no heart, wretchedness...
Like, go fetch it bitch... see the Frisbee fly...
like a record disc... hit a fucking pool of Executives in the eye...
This where the winners lie... in a pool of their blood...
Giving em' an outlet... the entire movement's unplugged...
You're in a room wit' a thug... my influence
above the worst of the addictions, see crack as a Nubian drug...
Got my place fumigated dealing; there's too many bugs...
in the walls... the fuck wit' an FBI tap?
See my flat? full of substance... I dare em' to try...
Bored as fuck, so my lair's been high...
right there in the sky... fucking parents are aware of it...
they got extra baggage n' deemed me as a terrorist... like I'm one of the Arabic's
And there it is.... a life time without subscription...
I write with conviction... see in the light, where the trife has been missing...
Stick it in your heart, like an incision...
with a knife, the decision to do so is me figuring out where I am...
Then it's like, there I am... swear the merit planned
like demerits, you build it up n' try not to get fucked...
But by the time you do go? You're too slow... try to move, bro...
Can't bypass the industry, without the new code.

the bullets move in rhythm... Every one released is like riding a tempo... The Architect lives inside of my mental... the kind of potential I create for each line is suspenseful... enough to give the philosophical meaning of Violence? a pencil...

I leave the streets for good... but I'm still in the rap...
The villain is back... look at the life go, as he's killing the track...
I'm the filter for what these syllables lack...
I grill em' n' flat- en' the foundation they were building, for that?
I sit back and watch the pillars collapse...
Trust me... I had love for the game, but my comfort's changed...
now it's something deranged... lost souls, giving up in exchange...
They wallow and bask in all of it, when I'm calling it trash...
History in the making for the future, when they follow the past...
This is Apollo, at last... beaten the Russian he lost to...
in spirit... those who want the drive? They can suck the exhaust fumes
from out the back of the whip until the revving causes the axle
to shift... tell the Monestary Monk... I am a master at this...
And his ass don't exist... I don't look calm...
because I've made it be... now they're relating me to the story, like A&E...
Ha... they're not ready for the calibur, X...
Smash their watermelon in Gallagher sweats...
A style so complex... the rubric for it's too enormous
to read... formative keys performed into mental ornament themes...
From Norman's debris... blood on his orange little sleeves
As he's pulling those showers drapes back with a knife in his hand...
Fuck it... that's right with the plan...
Ecstasy tablets, broken Vicodin's jammed
Inside of his van's glove compartment, trying to cram the last of it
inside of his damn... mouth, while he's hiding it and...
Idling in a Idaho am....
-- bulance drive way, at 5 A.... M...
on Friday... man... that's the shit that I'm on...
Get clocked out... every script's an alarm... putting em' in visual harm...
Illustrating the model...
Carried by Aristotle... once the hear the throttle gears? the motto's clear...
E Mano mirrors, Pablo...
C'mon, bro, share the taco...
Ha... yeah, I'm a feisty fiesta...
These kids are clowns, they live the life of a Jester...
And fuck around with children, like a Molester...
So what gives em' the right to contest ta'... rifle I pressed on
the side of your temple?
Guy, I was gentle... plus, the bullets move in rhythm...
Every one released is like riding a tempo...
The Architect lives inside of my mental...
the kind of potential I create for each line is suspenseful...
enough to give the philosophical meaning of Violence? a pencil...
wow... now think about that for a sec...
the illustration of graphics perfected by a tactical weapon
of rapping perception...
cats who lack the connection
to be components of concept... go for the complex schemes
that they use without knowing the context...
It's like I'm holding the objects of reality to control your subconscious...
And there's nothing people can do until I've seeped in my groove...
Yeah, I'm speaking to you...
*points*
Yeah. YOU!
The guy glancing at his screen right now with a blank stare...
in his rank chair thinking "Now, what gives em' the right to say the shit that he likes?"
Here is some advice: I don't give a shit...
I scribble this off of the top in intervals, limitless...
-ly ... n' if you agree with what you're seeing, friend?
Take that car of yours and go over the median...