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LYRICS:

I'm like a mathematician, back slash magician 
Back slash musician, back slash politician 
My primary competition lacks vision 
Just give em a couple of stacks and some scantily clad women   
I'm glad to be back spittin', my battery packs filled
My bladder is past max capacity, quit asking me
For collabs, I don't condone rapping with fans 
That throw tantrums and act like grown babies and Stan’s 
I'm coming with the most wickedest
You come outdated and unfinished like Australopithecus
At low flames, my flow SIMMERS
I spit no FILLERS, Gold chains I crush them to gold glitter 
I spit heat that'll keep you hot through cold winter
I'm still here like Occupy after November
Oh Man, I came to behold plans
Straight from the soul I’ma bestow through the whole land
My own fam was takin’ advantage 
Those I considered friends was turning they backs 
And I just sat there, not saying a thing
Not hating, but I’m definitely not waiting for them
Cause I’m free now, and I’ve got a mean style
I write and I freestyle, the fire can breathe now 
I've done had it; I'm ready to start challenging
Any authority, whether a rookie or seniority  
Its no fable, I'm ready to volcano 
The levee is unstable, my temper un-playful 
With enough rage to punch you in the navel 
So hard it'll knock the wind out of your guardian angel
I'm breaking rules, and I'm running with it 
I'll meat cleaver king Midas's hands, and snuff him with it
I’m upset cause the shit I came up on 
Seems to have just left, seems to be long gone
Days that we bumped Pac, days that we bumped Nas
Days that we bumped Em, days that we bumped Pun 
Those were the days when the basics was just fun
Nowadays I feel like the racists have must won
What have we got here? Too many cops here
Too many shots here, too many flops here
Too many cats claiming to be the greatest to ever do it
When the truth is these impersonators just got here
I’m from a top tier, I run with the top boys 
Plottin’ since cash money came out with the hot boyz 
Homie I got noise, homie I got jams 
That’ll make grand pop stand up and say, “Got damn”
This young man is sharp and he’s not playing
I’m tearing apart metal with Mario cart shells 
And the scariest part is that I channel a dark realm 
Where a chariot falls from heaven carrying Sean Bell
And he carries a crucifix that he lances across hell
While Harriet Tubman and Lauren Hill unlock cells 
Of innocent kids, to vindicate immigrant kin, incinerate sin 
I generate phlegm to represent my generation
I provide syntax for examination
So sit back and bump to my algorithm
I know that you’re sick and you suffer from malnutrition
Perhaps the root is all the trash you listen to
It makes you mad and makes you miserable 
Maybe all the songs about killing niggaz and fuckin' many bitches
Is really only killing the individual in you
WHOO, that’s deep ain’t it?
Not really, its obvious to me damn it, you see
It doesn't take a savant to pick this apart 
This is intricate art, from a genuine heart 
So if you feel the same click the like button
And write something, and cop my album on I-tunes its like $9 something 

© FinaL OutlaW. Broken Sword Records.



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