People ask why I love rap - an incongruity they don't expect, I'm a ginger motherfucker, about as pale as you can get - "don't like metal? You're stupid and white...or did you forget? You're no Eminem" Total disrespect - so I'm gonna lay it down now, put your ass right in check.
Mate, life's a game defined by numbers and words, they're the basis for everything you see in this world.
Giving meaning and substance to what before was a dream, inventing a core value Ponzi scheme.
You look down on the poor, they're just pawns in the scheme, you're a rook or a knight, maybe even a queen - but no match for a linguistic alchemist in the ghetto with dreams.
Mightier than a sword, cleaving flesh from bone, they brand your mind with a few lines penned in a flow. Attacking foible brains with their forte of verbs, pronouns, contractions, fucking adverbs - coupé your damn psyche with a cyclone of words. You're saber's been foiled, you're baffled, disturbed.
Touché, point landed, your ego is dead, poisoned by ink from a bic not copious lead.
When you've got little to work with save your wits and your rhymes, it's takes courage and gumption to lay your heart down in lines. Inspire, entertain, lift some others up, while the world walks around not giving a fuck.
Using their words and prejudices to label you - piece of shit, gangster thug, a life to eschew. Chew on that for a bit you judgmental pricks, rhymes pricking your consciousness as the metronome ticks.
Maybe they're strapped, doubling up, dictionary and a Gat, while trying to come up. But you gotta respect the ones making an attempt to lay down the sword and still pay the rent. Until We Rich - Ice Cube's making a dent, a hailstorm of lyrics pelt both sides of the fence.
Gotta Keep Ya Head Up, Tupac is preaching the words that some kids needs to keep on believing.
They listen to rap, kids in the trap, searching for guidance in the limited facts.
Feeling powerless, hopeless, unloved, joining a gang to avoid getting beat up - or killed cause some one else is trying to feel in control, dominating through fear they might steal your soul.
The ones who find courage, their power to rise above - make a choice in the struggle, break out of the rut.
Write down the story explain what they see - since they've grown from a "convict" into a more conscious being.
The pen is sex blind, doesn't matter if the mind is attached to a penis or vag when it scribing the lines. Mightier don't need muscles bulging with brawn a quadriplegic can still wring out a song. Talking is modifying the process of breathing, it's everyone's right while their heart is still beating. Inhale, exhale, then let it all out, modulate the air - we're changing the world, unrapping reality from the inside out.
Yeah I'm white, a Ramanujan of rap, untrained, out of place, my style is whack. Busting flows grabbed right out of thin air, it's the nothingness, the empty space that puts reality there.
A pot but for the void remains a simple lump of clay
Pressure applied, something plus nothing - form begins taking shape.
It's nothing but imagination - a different way of seeing - each set of eyes a perspective in a universal being.
Thin air is thick with ingenuity, creative genius, divinity breathes as any we -
Under cover gods humbly acknowledging our family tree - everything is connected by invisible strings / thoughts vibrating infinitely.
Male and female in balance - negative one twelfth, a Plank length of consciousness, that can speak for itself.
Gravitational waves lap space time warping, wrapping - matter in motion enotionally attracting.
Governed by a constant C of quantitized action, we're just telling a story born of singular passion.
OM flows on forever beyond the horizon spelling spells - the status quo constantly updating itself.