One of the greatest lyricists of all time.
This nigga a certified legend.
Fools swear they’re wise, wise men know they’re foolish / We was headed for the web even before computers.
Them brothers said ‘Don’t go from written bars filled with rage / To primetime television and your guilded cage / Then, forget his people in the world still enslaved’ / I barbwire my wrist, and let it fill the page.
Gun firing flares, sirens glare / I’m in an iron chair with people who care / Don’t get the lion share / When I don’t give a f**k, then I ain’t fair.
Pre-Kardashian Kanye, my rhymeplay immaculate / Same cadence as D.O.C. pre-accident.
The anomaly sworn solemnly high snobbidy / Freakanomics and war policy, dichotomy / That’s Heaven and Hades, Tigres and Euphrates / His highness, the apple of the Iris to you ladies / As babies, we went from semi-lac and Enfamil / To the internet and Fentanyl / Where our consent was still against the will.
Listen, somebody said the price tag was on the rapper’s head / So we gon’ see a nice bag when the rapper dead / The mask black, the flag green, black, and red / They’ll probably wave a white flag after plasma shed.
My Levontae resemble of vehicular threats / The mic I spray resembling the sickle of death / It ain’t strenuous to come from a continuous breath / I set fire to the venue, I’ma spin you and step.
Yo, these weaklings is claiming they cutting up in the streets / Nigga please, you ain’t working with nothing but the police / Listen, you ain’t finna be nothing but the deceased / Listen, you in a tournament with a permanent crease.
How much more CB4 can we afford? / It’s like a Sharia Law on My Cherie Amour / How much hypocrisy can people possibly endure? / But ain’t nobody working on a cure?
My pen is Henry Kissinger, Buzz Bissinger.
Go through the vein to the brain, fabulous and strange / My journalistic range is a catalyst for change / It got anybody that listen pissing flame / And ’cause the Hall of Fame got so many missing names.
Listen, a grain of salt’ll tip the scale, it never fails / Walk on egg shells, sleep on a bed of nails / Criminal records like record sales / Making heads or tails, we like Henrietta Lacks up in the cells.
I am a walking affirmation, that imagination / And focus and patience get you closer to your aspiration / And just ’cause they give you s**t don’t mean you have to take it / My words capture greatness, sworn affidavits.
I’ve been having visions of Nat Turner holding his master’s head / Like Yorick and Horatio in Hamlet / Smacking it like a tennis racket underhanded / Send a message through the Gram: ‘The Eagle has landed’ / Dressed in a military jacket made of canvas / I am no gorilla I just make ’em go bananas / Outstanding, red, black and green bandanas.
I’m like, ahem, approach the author with your offering / I spoil rappers rotten like my only offspring / Being His excellency gets to be exhausting.
Pentamine, I’m made of elements you can’t combine / I’m at a level of intelligence you can’t define / Einstein, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Tesla / Recording artist slash psychology professor / I preach for the East, never fold under pressure / The beat’s from the East and I glide like Clyde Drexler.
Ayo, my new name is 85 X’s / ‘Cause I’m the rap game certified specialist / When I was reckless I was worried ’bout the guest list / I’m helping rappers everywhere fulfill a, death wish.
