"A dot—no comparison. 
Rap Thomas Edison. Arrogant. 
God son flow. Rhymes heaven sent.
Braggadocio, while they Pinocchio when flowing over instrumentals.
If I said it, best believe I meant it, 
‘cause my sentences be ventilation statements. 
Press breaking. Half baked. No smoker; still eating; have cake. 
Cream rises—
I am where I am—no surprises. 
Dream shake like Hakeem—stay posted—no denying I’m defiant. 
Miami Vice; Sonny squealing tires. 
Weight’s up—I’m the Jolly Green Giant with the science.

They feebler than the Keebler’s, hide in trees—so sweet. 
Want beef like vegans, so we simply won’t meet. 
Can’t speak. We don’t even eat off the same dishes. 
They dying for some fame. We don’t have the same wishes. 
Don’t do the same business. 
Go live—pour up.
You sell a bit; I’m celibate—I gives no fucks. 
Sell none, either. Hail one Teacher. 
Fail? Won’t ever. Tales so clever. 

Author like Chaucer, be the saucer in the sky, 
that they swear they saw flying with the lights whizzing by. 

Gemini [Jim and I]—put it on the Finn like Huck—
for my Niggas who would get it, either spill or throw it up. 

No colors. No gang ties. Just words. 
I was speaking on the stars, and the moon just occurred. 

Pit-bull, 
spit full clips, bullshit? No never. 
Ill state, still. Go getter.
Chill, no sweater—they better button up. 
I’m in a button down, bow tie, summing up,
like, “In conclusion, 
no confusing, me for you or you. 
I’m not doing 
what you cats call ‘rap,’ I call trash. 
And what y’all fans call ‘hot’ I call ‘gas.’

Can’t fuck with A dot. I must brag.
If you’ve been schooled, this’ not the same class. 
If you’ve not read, it’s still the same book, 
but not the same page, and not the same look. 

Dot’s the same guy that told you ‘don’t speak’
then gave you no doubts your flow was on E. 

I’m gone teach—I’m telling you, ‘hands down.’
Grand Prize Game was played by those clowns.

The Bozo Show, that’s sold on hope—
could have a needle in they vein and still won’t know dope.

Introducing—back from never leaving—
the critically acclaimed, recognized, never even.

Fire breathing, Midwest beast in
5’6” frame, plus flame still leaking. 
Still plain speaking. Raps woo ladies. 
Nine deep. Tang like booze. Euphrates…
In denial is where I leave all my rivals. 
Prey like a predator, while they praying for their survival...

Find a Bible."

Instrumental: "One," by Ghostface Killah [Supreme Clientele]"

One [Produced by JuJu]

"[1: A.D. Carson]
It’s the anti—everything that you believe you stand for.
Cancer that a man stores in his hands for
laying ‘em on parishioners wishing for some malignance.
I’m really just saying what I’m writing is sickening. 
What I’m writing is vision. 
What I’m writing is healing.
What I’m writing is flashes of lightning across the ceiling.
Flames from the floor, flickering, licking your feet to move you, 
fool you into believing that when you move, it’s the true you.
Voodoo dance from dude whose hands expand reality. 
Puppeteering, but from what you’re hearing, you do it naturally. 
And actually I’m to blame for it all—
I’m the reason, even your breathing—if you rise or you fall.
They said Hip-Hop’s dead. I said it must be a joke, 
‘cause if it’s really the truth that means I fuck with the ghost.
And I ain’t—above believing in what people don’t see, 
but I can’t—believe in it if don’t believe in me, 
so where are you? 

[2: Bad Dreams]
It’s that long night sleep tight now that you think you woke up 
Soaking in your psychosis I’m dosing you with the donuts  
You wading into them rivers just wishing for this deliverance  
You floating in them oceans and just hoping for your atonement
Cooking up something frozen
Cooling off the commotion
What I quote is drums invoking tongues of the chosen 
Black Rhapsodies Rap tapestries get woven 
Bodies contorted jerking the circle is never broken 
Like the slave embracing godliness, embrace the bodiless
Authorship beyond consciousness that’s where the party is 
Burn Down the plantation regardless
The ghosts told me never the fear the darkness 
that’s where the realest part is
They said the blues is dead I said it must be a joke 
Amiri Baraka handed me some smoke and I just took a toke 
And I ain’t above believing in what people don’t see 
I believe in ya’ll even when ya’ll don’t believe me 
So who are you? 


[3: A.D. Carson]
God bless the child that can hold it in. 
Believe…enemies bleed when I hold my pen. 
Let these words be the first to my unborn seeds
so they hear the voice of God clear—blast for me, 
blast for your you, and those who come after you.
Keep your peace, until they make you have to use it—
have to lose it—clear choice: after music 
comes the fall. So, really, what I’m doing’s for y’all. 
But you’ll never know the truth, never see it for self,
never believe ‘cause you can’t understand it, or else
have it chewed and spewed back at you, pick it up and endorse it,
then you’ll support it, get it to fit. If it don’t, then you’ll force it. 
They say my people are dead. I said it must be a joke, 
‘cause if that’s really the truth that means I’m talking to ghosts.
And I ain’t—above believing in what people don’t see, 
but I can’t—believe in it if don’t believe in me, 
so what are you?" 



Talking To Ghosts feat. Bad Dreams [Prod. by Preme]

Son Shines [featuring C - Style]

"People ask me why I say the shit I say in front of white folks,
as if the things I say should just remain with me and my folks,
but why folks
be thinking my communication’s harsh

when sentences they say have niggas locked behind them bars,

and stories they be telling and be publishing in books
will turn around and make fucking saint out of a crook.

And faces that I look at doing crime ain’t just like mine
but you won’t get that picture if you stay inside the lines
and so I stay inside a mind dividing time on either side of truth and lies
because we’re meant to scrutinize. Who decides who we get euthanized by?
Not shootings, drive bys,
or “black-on-black crime,”
I’m wondering ‘bout them white lies
that they be telling you and I ‘bout you and I in U-N-I-
versities so verses be the the truest kind. I’m looking for congruent minds to match my wits with.
When truth get hard, they nitpick.
But I ain’t trying to argue with no nitwit.

[Hook]
So you can go tell ‘em I said it. I meant it. I’ll tell ‘em myself if they willing to hear it.

[I ain't running away from my words
just make sure I said what you heard.]

You can go tell ‘em I said it. I meant it. I’ll tell ‘em myself if they willing to hear it.

[I don't care it you're feeling disturbed
or that you feel it's absurd.]

You can go tell ‘em I said it. I meant it. I’ll tell ‘em myself if they willing to hear it.

[If my word is my bond
I gotta be certain that I'm
observant and working with mine.]

You can go tell ‘em I said it.
I meant it.
I’ll tell ‘em myself.

[2]
I don’t need another February. Seldom, very rarely, next to never
should you put the education ‘bout your greatness on oppressors.

So what he has to teach you
comes more from how he treats you.
And not just when he need you or your people.
I peep bull.
It’s all beef.
And I don’t have no cares ‘bout what they call me.
I’m all me.
And for that, I’m not sorry.
So hard we work to hardly herd the heart that hurts the hardly heard,
and we’re disturbed
by how often that pot is stirred.
So when they turn and say it’s race bait when I’m calling out race hate
I keep on talking. I ain’t trying to placate
or waste space trying to debate the hate haters create with its creator.
I make haste. Lying ain’t got no place in my relations.
So statements ain’t offending me,
nor is your opinion of me,
it’s more or less the the moral-less supremacy.
Since people have them tendencies from coming through this system we call living
I guess they think that shit should be forgiven. It ain’t.

[Hook]

[3]
I don’t want you to do me no favors.
I don’t want you to do me no solids.
I don’t want you to teach me your hatred.
I don’t want to be ruled by your scholars.
I don’t want to be seen as your problem.
My problem is what you created,
then you framed it as if it was me,

insisted that you should debate it.

I take it as kind of a compliment
that I often get the blame for the shit that I cannot control.
But if we discuss it, it’s really insulting.
I come from the people whose land that you stole,
bodies you took. And I can’t trust a guy who’s a crook
with a view that denies me a look,
and then puts it inside of a book that they teach me to read, if they do,
it’s to treat me like I should be shook.

And that's only the half.
I'll travel the loneliest path
doing felonious math,
erroneous, maybe, but these are the stakes: the baloney you gave me

is created from wrongs that have made me
the man that you hate, see?

But it ain't me...
so it can't be.

That American Dream seems like hell of a scheme.

And it’s deep…’cause in order to dream, then you gotta be sleep.

And what am I, but a guy interrupting the lullaby?
And if that don’t work. So what, I try.

[Hook]

[Outro]
E. Dunlap: Y’all remember that story about Issey?
Old Sawney’s daughter?

You know, they say she tried to burn down the plantation house.

Shit...

I wish she had’ve done that shit.

And you can tell ‘em I said it...

‘cause I did."

Talking To White Folks [I Said It] [Produced By Preme]

"[Hook]: 
You can call ‘em best in the West or the best in the league. 
Best of the best or the best that we see. 

Those are big shoes to fill ‘til we see
who’s the real MVP. 

They was tested together, but they’re better on their own. 
Let’s see who is inheriting the throne. 

[Verse]:
Now that it’s head to head we can call it because it’s started. 
Dearly departed, this here’s not for the faint of heart. 
But instead, it’s a question, one you can ponder, and even wonder. 
Search the sky for the gods, only one of ‘em brings the Thunder. 

One of ‘em came to Rocket, and truly ought to be feared. Not just for the beard. 
This guy’s truly out of this sphere. 
But not for nothing, with Russ in the discussion, then we talking ‘bout 
the league leading scorer taking everything and walking out. 

Few words from the curious crowd.
If not a Trey, he’ll stop, pop, like Furious Styles.
They leave audiences screaming more mo’, boy.
It’s like Harden be serving ‘em from the do’, boy. 
Giving out dishes, then torching and burn they home.
Medusa to the shooter. They look and they turn to stone.

They out to win, and really won’t get it subtle. 
And that’s how you explain the fifty point triple doubles. 

[Hook]: 
You can call ‘em best in the West or the best in the league. 
Best of the best or the best that we see. 

Those are big shoes to fill ‘til we see
who’s the real MVP. 

They was tested together, but they’re better on their own. 
Let’s see who is inheriting the throne. 

Those are big shoes to fill. Will we see
who’s the real MVP?"

Bleacher Report: "The Real MVP" [Produced by Preme]

A.D. Carson