Tonalidad: C major
Verse 1
Em
Hi. Mr. Bruno is it?
First thing I'd like you to do
is look at these ink blots
and tell me what it is you see.
It's my outlet,
bringing the user to my level.
A staturous physique when I speak,
the mic rebel, a renegade,
in a blue -lined barricade
I'm saturating sheets
with alphabetic marinade
To the average eye,
it looks like a mess
At best, to me, it looks like a vessel
To tame the treble clef, my calligraphy
Moving ministry,
other symphonies
Specifically, I'm like Kathy Bates
Bringing misery,
easily I can show you,
but what it mean to ya?
You could never comprehend
the content of my media
Letters cadence to my voice
for the performance
And turn the pages of my rhyme journal
to a concordance
Using me for reference,
trying to track my dialogue
Son, I'm analog,
right in the linguistic catalog
In the stationary sanctuary,
leave the synagogue
Haters try to block the Kermit
like an audibly clogged
Fluently, riding the track,
I saddle the measure
And harness the skills
that were first spawned in my ledger
A database processin' the thoughts
that I'm stressin'
Protestin' my oppression
when the court is in session
Yo, the world want the font that we got
It's the red feather word
they heard from Treetop
The place where I shout the
crowd from Enoch
And translate the paper,
I spread my ink spot
Cause the world want the
bond that we got
It's the red letter word
they heard from Treetop
The place where I shout
the rap from Enoch
And translate the paper
I spread my Eastside
Open my heart,
words start falling right when they please
I pay fees, close eyes, roll down what I see
Is a superstiz from a superstar raising a bar
And cats can't comprehend
so they front and pretend
I transcend rap flow to a new plateau
Cause the wack know,
soon they getting overshadowed
When the track low,
florist and ink is on the brink
Cause they love it and
they coveted the pattern
to think that I thought
Rhyme box some cashews with jewels
that I paid over
PC tools and college rules
We swallow fools shallow as potholes
that's claiming they got soul
Like chicken and Rambo from Roscoe
Thinking they are what they eat
If that's the case I'm a sucker MC
cause I've eaten plenty
Still an empty stomach
make the sympathy plummet
To a bowel full of vowels
I spin the wheel of fortune
and I'm torching
Scorching the mindset
and find yet another soul lost where
darkness is tossed.
The cost is infinite
if the cross isn't in it.
So I'm bridging the gaps
with raps and table scraps.
Yo, the world wants the font that we got.
It's the red letter word
they heard from treetop.
The place where I shout the
round from Enoch.
And translate the paper,
I spread my ink spot.
Yo, the world wants the font that we got.
It's the red letter word
they heard from treetop.
The place where I shout the
round from Enoch.
And translate the paper,
I scribe my ink spot
Yeah, we ain't gonna wear a PC
Still representing the most high God
The paper made coalition,
Outro 1
we're still here
Em
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