One of our oldest joints, "me and the mic's like husband and wife..." (Authenticity demo 1.0)
It's never too late to waste a little time.
This is mastabeta.
Honest rap. Anybody in a pink jumpsuit need not apply, unless of course you are man enough to wear it without checking with your friends every ten minutes.
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"A fine collection of bad dubs. I'm just glad it exists."
-EPL
Story behind the song
Happily married...me and the mic's like husband and wife...
She's just my type, I hold her tight on summer nights...
We don't fight and if we do, I'll turn the power off...
She's scared of the threat of no lyric intercourse...
and I'm a slave...
her mystical gaze led the way...
I cut through the craze high off the purple haze...
our eyes locked...
connected sight like a cyclops...
Mrs. Efroc, my moonshine on the treetops...
So please don't envy me because my style is crazy free...
cuz I'm known to break the best like the curse of H.I.V.
When I spit upon the earth and drown every "cash rapper"
...A bunch of dirty fools that belong in a hamper...
Sampling the 80's, recognizable hit...
they all suck like lesbians playin' with their own tits...
So...drastic are the measures of the rapper/acrobat...
filling in the gaps to lay traps in your habitat...
I spread the rhyme butter when I flow like Niagra...emcee's are gettin' fucked like O.D.'n on viagra...
Cuz I'm a victim of the wash, my cornflakes never whither...
You rhyme like Stephen King cuz your style is gettin' thinner...
The heater of the brain, I stir up up like Gumbo...when you listen to my words you play the roll of Dumbo...
So try not to get hit by the ride that's driven by FLY P...
While I'm takin' command like Pelham 123...
I'm another bad creation like my name was ABC...
So please don't envy me cuz my style is crazy free...
when I am travelling beyond "simple silly rap formulas" I slap emcees from Japan to Astoria...I do not tote guns but I'm known to shoot the gift like an X-rated Santa Claus with Uzi's on his hips...
and that's why my taste elevates beyond the simple rap formula...so props come to me like little kids to Count Chocula...
When I control your sun, moon, earth, and Uranus...
I give birth to words that indeed make me famous
I was born "against the grain"...
The streets were my best teacher...
a bastard all my life not the sun of a preacher...
Skip across landscapes and rape the beat with ease...
Alive until I die, til then "Fuck my enemies"
So why don't you open up the X-File #10-7-7-6, where you'll find classified info on the Uncle Scam Clique, recipies from agencies to helicopter pilots that take to the blue skies at the first start of any riot...
Cuz I don't need no fuckin' hassle, save the fights for all your bitches or face my lyric alchemy like a thousand angry witches...
because I'm sick of all of yall "one night rap mommies" with that radio play turnin' fans into zombies...
and you talk about your "cream" and your "ice down" medals while I melt your whole shit like Hansel and Gretel...
That's why the microphone's my lady love, the only one to hold my hand because no matter what I say, yo, I know she understands...
She is my lady and I'm her only man...
That's why you are listening....
my #1 fan.
*
And I be rockin' spots harder than jackhammers hit cement...
sent by the peasants to assinate your attempts...
I embrace my rap order like hugs in Kodak commercials...and play deaf, dumb, and blind to your so so wack rehearsals
I microwave commercial rap and toss the rapper in the garbage...
and I'll kill your fairy tale: Goldie dies within the forrest
I was concieved in the dark so bring a flashlight to the battle...
when I slide inside space and time, the black hole supernatural...
When I empty out my clip, insert a rhyme into my chamber...
I bust a bullet verb-lights! camera! action! Danger!!!
I'm married to the mic like it's glued to my hand...
so many grab the mic, but too few have a plan...
I rock a fake "nukka" right through the fuckin' sand...
and right before I rip, I sip a vodka and cran...
and like Chuck D, I'm a public enemy...
the wack better run because I'm D>emcee...
Biochemistry/industrious entity...
A wave of my hand vanishes land and sea...
niggas can't fuck with me...
Din-din-din-duh-duh
keep your mouth shut...
Cuz I'ma get wicked like Jab
