I’m not one for hatin’ as the youth are wont to say,
But something’s percolating in this convoluted grey.
Loose rhymes, straight time might as well be hate crimes.
Nasal vocalization, artistic abomination;
I pray to Jesus or maybe Yeezus to offer me salvation.
Heal the blind and lame just humpin’ legs of fame,
And smite the seed just spittin’ weed and spelling out their names.
t to the o to the d to the rr t and y
You wouldn’t know a metaphor if it spit right in your eye.
Image me, Dead Sea never heard of subtlety.
Booty are you serious? You can’t be so delirious.
I’m drying up with this empty cup, yo liquor’s not imperious.
Those words don’t even rhyme, why don’t you take the time
To mine your head, watch that thread; miles from sublime
Got no affiliation nothing flying off my chest.
I’m down with De La Soul and a Tribe Called Quest.
I’m buying, you’re trying I just think the genre’s dying.
Take some medicine, an artistic denizen;
The only Weezy that I dug was on the Jeffersons.
King Lou and Chuck D., we need a new decree.
Beasties ill it, Sugar Hill it; we’ll have to wait and see
Now I can’t harvest beats like Pharrell or Will.i.am,
And I never said the tracks are weak, just heavy on the ham.
Little space, save a face; music’s not an arms race.
Substance over style, truth and not revile;
a l’il taste, a l’il class, anything but guile.
All I got to say, peace and have a day.
Drop a mic, get on your bike and up your dossier.
© Michael Worthington Music 2014
Don't know where to start.