Don’t raise a fist without being prepped for reciprocation/ the sickest patient this side of ‘the land with no vaccination’/ the hate is grounded in no basis like anti-vaxxers/ so we rise above it, wave black flags at empty caskets/… the bombastic, boom bappin’ in indie land/ planted seeds, painted flames on the side of a mini-van/ drove it off a cliff and cued the scene from Thelma and Louise/ proved I’ll only kneel inside a coffin like my name’s Patrice/ Peace… I’ve been a beast since conception/ these ED thugs ain’t even hard with erections/ host their album release inside of an intersection/ maybe then you’ll get a hit, or just get hit in one direction/ boy band rappers… don’t make me laugh/ I’ll split your audience in half like moses and send your staff my condolence. What a blast/ the last cat I saw was black, smiled and took it home/ broke a mirror, walked under a ladder, and then wrote this song/ the empirical evidence ain’t enough/ the jury’s out, I guess I’ll drive to Newt’s for my lunch/while the world waits for another deus ex crutch/ I saw two hypochondriacs argue “who’s more out of touch”/ Shucks… got balls like an 808/ Mr. Roland, sittin’ holdin’ legs to my faded face/ jaded from the day-to-day, but turned that Jade into some gems/ … spit beautiful, shed a tear when you see my phlegm/ golf wang, kill em all-type massacre/ don’t ask me if I’m fly unless you’re considered a passenger/ I’m passin’ up the dog shit doo-doo rhymers in the metro/ got a style that lights a flame in every single grade of petrol/ this industry is pretty much a pet show/ Jump through all the hoops and give a cookie to the best, I’ll probably eat a couple cats and get my ass put in the kennel/ Either way, I’ll be the patron saint of what is next/ bless the child that can get out the ghetto/ not just physically, but psychologically/ not just poppin’ mollys for the sake of being college-y/ I issue no apologies until you address poverty/ marvel at the ignorance and eat a plate of collard greens/ you’re a famous rapper, that’s so great, let’s have a roast for you/ Greg Giraldo’s heating up the grill inside the vocal booth/ this is not a celebration, this is just what’s overdue/ make sure every cindy, kate, and ricky will get over you/ gone with a rad flow, what an asshole/ prolly killed a rapper, left the body in El Paso/ left my wallet in El Segundo/ these identity thieves must’ve saw the opportunity, said “Yesss”/ pessimism don’t describe my sensibilities/ you choke on seeds, I’d rather toke on sensimilla leaves/…crawlin’ like a millipede up the street/ scopin’ out the land to be inherited by all the meek/ delete the weak, survival of the fittest/but the fittest are more fun to hunt, I guess I’m just a critic/ I write in pitch black like I’m chronicling Riddick/ but the words light up the room enough to burn through any cynic/ trust me, man, this really Is a picnic/ eating every rapper, letting crumbs fall to the ants, while hearing crickets/ …the flow keeps coming, check the spigot/ the racial chameleon stays confusing all the bigots/ blend in, but go out guns blazing like Riley’s fundraising/ …Huey mindstate with Ed Wuncelor nuts hanging//