The drum gets dumb-dumbs bobbin’ heads till their neck snaps-
They should be open like 7-11 in a round of craps-
With the button on or off, it don’t matter,
The pitter-patter of the bass has their frame of mind shattered-
Succumb to the baseline-
Imbibe all your wine-
Make sure your bling shines-
Walk the superficial line-
Decapitate your will to survive-
Travel to hell, not to heaven-
Remember, this is the end of the beginning-
They really need to feel you-
Open up your chest until it’s see-through-
Hug the thoughts that fly around so they can seep through-
And super-saturate your blood-
The gift of gab gets you out of tight situations-
Like a governor’s call during incarceration-
Fuck rehabitating slums and coagulative thugs with degenerative hugs before it costs way too much-
To-
Tab that shit on my see-through AMEX blue-
I’ve milked it to the max and my payment’s way overdue-
And my payback word has consistently been used and abused-
So my only resort left that I had to conclude-
Was to duck-tape your mouth no matter what you say or do-
I’m seeing rouge and gotta break on through-
To the other side-
Hit the bunker, 6 feet under, go run and hide-
You best to leave me and spare yourself the trouble-
Cause shit’s getting thick like morning after chin stubble-
Escape your land, with your life, while you can-
Cause the Maker’s Mark whiskey is thinning out my blood sitting in my left and right hand-
Now I’m not a self-proclaimed prophet cause he would tell you to do what you feel-
I’m cursed with the love of telling you to avoid the pain because I’m real-
And helpless-
Lord I’m helpless, yet I do what I can-
Push a $1.20 to $4.20 and roam the land till the man upstairs puts a noose around my neck and tells me to kick the can-
And so I kicked it-
And to my left there was Illicit-
Head tilted, laid-back-cat-style, you had to witness-
When he spit shit-
He shone brighter than the bling wrapped around both his wrists did-
Then the moon went down and the Dark Sun rose-
Spittin’ rhymes so fast he spawned a Twista of his own-
Then Drunken Monk swung out from behind a tree trunk and made you think of the shit you wish you would have already thunk-
The originator, none greater, Drew the pour-man-
Flung his cameo into the midst of the cipher and pour-man-
Not only served up anything from whiskey to Coors-
But he spilt the golden foundation upon which we all stand-
Poetic Assassin lay in the cut, it was hard to find him-
Sniper-style in a tree, just steady writing-
Shawn Love spotted him in the nick of ridiculous time and started climbing up the tree swinging from vine to vine and-
After he scooped him up and brought him down below-
All you saw was a streak of his jet-white flow-
Whitey started lying about how he loves his job-
I said kick back kid, grab another drink-
Ain’t no kitchen, table, or sink in sight-
There ain’t one dish your gonna have to order, serve, return, spit in, or wash-
Then the Night fell Silent and I don’t know who was responsible for the elimination of havoc that slowly led to silence-
Was it Iris scritch-scratching 2 crates of vinyls till carpel tunnel took over and got his wrists wrapped in iron-
Maybe that’s why he ain’t here tonight, don’t hold him liable-
I think its time, we all climb, up to the next level-
Yo C-5, show em’ how you can equalize the treble~