INTRO:
Every night, I go to bed-
Roll up in a nice black blanket, like I'm in a little cocoon...
And when I wake up
I have my sight's set on a step in the right direction
VERSE:
I emerge from my chrysalis, to be a catalyst
Of positive actions in and around Minneapolis
Hip-hop heads, hop to this
Hip, chill, stimulant for happiness
Or jealousness. Fellas gettin' envious
From justified pretentiousness
Evident as ever with, the present bit
As it left my lips, plus the ish
I have yet to spit.
First, I’ll let you get your grips
Cause I know your stuck, making sense of the tricks
Riddled within this transcripts-
First lines...
Cave mine lines: you gotta search mine
For the lyrical gems, as I burn time
Play with wordplay. They say I’m word wise
Shout out to the first guys, taking part in my learned life
And...covering my blind side.
We're searching for splurgin' that cheddar
Better than the 3 blind mice
But I got that 20-20 hindsight
A delightful urge to purge
Once I’m ripe, in the lime light
But that’s once the time’s right...
I think the time's right!
Though, my flow, I won't- slow it, cause who needs a chorus?
Since I was born, I have sworn: This- life imma hold by the horns, bitch
And gorge in enormous portions of gorgeous Rocky Mountain Oysters
As a metaphorical award for it...
If I keep focus, like four door Ford whips!
For the pen is mightier than the sword is
I'm gonna live by the pen and die by the rewards
That come forward...
So, flee fast for the forest, foes;
For you’ve hit a fork in the road
Fortifty your fortress, man your forts
For ya’ll been forewarned...
Trauma fiddles to force forgetfullness
But forges mental images on simpletons
Your memory sticks like a pissed pitbull’s grips
Via explicate penmanship; me and beats get intimate
No kidding, cause I’m impotent
Can’t fuck with me, I’m whiskey dick
That’Sound Insight, loud as I, educate the ignorant
Like immigrants, I cross the line, between diva raps, and raps divine..
You can’t block my shine- so bright, pupils dilate, like Columbine
Wait, no, dial 9...1-1. No one, catches my puns, like, half the time…
And...I suppose that’s why...
I’m void, of contracts to sign
But you’re out of gas, and past your prime
You’re mind’s inside a box, confined, so stop the talk, and act a mime
Step on me, and then you'll see, how I can be a land mine
But really
I'm a rapper who's sicker than slackers, with senioritis
Plus spring fever, cancer, AND a clogged sinus
Stealing answers, to barely pass class with a D-
I'm Saint Paul's right hand man, so they label me the tightest
Righteous!
Until the day I die, my dialect will be held in high respect
So, I will try my best, to make every breath
Real ill, till my final rest.. Currently, I am kept
Writing for the same minds your idols impress
A big break: I haven’t found mine yet
So ya’ll can bet my mind’s a bit riot-esque
I will get mine once I find a neck of an MTV private rep
And demand they write a check, with a memo reading 'life or death'
So...
Sooner than-later, I’ll be scooping the-paper
Saying toodalooo to the neighbors, gaining a pool plus some anchors
Next to movers and shakers. To add to the group of
Doers, not sayers; those who stoop, the naysayers
My flow's 'roid ragin', so, I got no patience
My poise is vacant and these snot nose famous-
Asshole's, only stimulate the cash flow
They motivate my ass, yo. Oh, plus my gas low
That’s soon to be my past though!
Maybe even with that last quote. Not showing off my fast flow
But see, its not to bag ho’s. They whistle like a glass bowl. They're Kennedy...Well me, I play the grass knoll, with eyes on me, but im'ma have to pass though
(Sorry!)
I already got a sweet-cheeked pretty sweetie in my suite
Subtweeting, fiending for the D
But I need a dollar... a dollar, dollar's all I need
I'll origami fold a seed, plant a tree, and retire in peace
After reaping all the leaves
I got a card up my sleeve, seen as a heart on my sleeve
I go so hard, I'm bound to peak; double meaning, not discrete
Life is sweet- bon apeteet! born elite, soaring toward prestige
Sworn to drop heat, so pristine- Luol Deng, March of ‘13
I bust my balls, like bacci, as a young Sydney Crosby
To get my goals- no hockey. So self-directed- obvi...
I got that from my poppy, but the way I loop on the track
You’d think my pops was Ricky Bobby, probably
...But he oughta be
I got the green lit so nobody’s gonna stop me
Till I say so, properly...
OUTRO:
Okay... Now drop the beat
