|
Unforceable, invincible, atypical, enter this ventricle |
|
Wide open like a child's pleasure principle |
|
My principalities remain unrinseable |
|
Brain unwashable, dry clean only |
|
So fresh on deep, never lonely |
|
So genuine, my copies ain't phony |
|
So recognize and give me what you owe me |
|
Your attention and long-term memory |
|
Whether in solitude or assembly |
|
I make (fraggles?) go BOW! Never wimbly |
|
I got my enemies shook like there was ten of me |
|
[Hook] |
|
Happy belated one of these days |
|
I survive everywhere (the people wanna be paid) |
|
So many ways, you must be crazed if you think that you can stop it |
|
[Verse 2] |
|
Think I don't command props |
|
You gotta redefine what props is |
|
Well, it's awful proper, you can start there |
|
Proper respect and my product you handle with proper care |
|
Even though it stand the test of time |
|
With the wear and tear |
|
To make the grandstand, the new look threadbare |
|
Still the fact remains |
|
Those that want to test my threshold pain |
|
Better be well-trained or they won't last to the refrain |
|
I am lyrics (BLAOW!) Two to your brain |
|
I double-tap you where the source of the trouble at |
|
I'm sure you had to double that |
|
To show y'all the serious, furious |
|
I bring the cat back to life, bein' curious |
|
And scratchin' beneath the surface to a J-Live rhyme |
|
The shit that make payola-playas nervous at your service |
|
One of these days, even they may play the real shit, yeah |
|
Even primetime need a little true school rhyme time |
|
So let the sun shine on every square mile of style |
|
ANd one of these days our rappers won't be so foul |
|
As they bullshit their way through |
|
Livin' in denial like the shit that we say don't shake 'em |
|
Oh, to you, if you want to teach them the fine truth |
|
Or let them think they bullet-proof |
|
One of these days (BLAOW!) Right in the ass kisser |
|
And don't forget your get-over scheme |
|
Here, take it with ya, I see through like a cipher |
|
That's why ya got - threw you out my cypher |
|
I'm through tryin' to decipher the double-talk |
|
Double that too, so the biters'll get it right |
|
And the writers will get excited |
|
But see man, your bitch ass will never get invited |
|
To a caliber, an echelon like this |
|
Until something better was created |
|
Then I say "Happy Belated" |