Hubris, Using my illusions, All about the music, where no ones on my side and I knew it, somehow we confused it, lost in all the music…. probably prophecized and my
First hand experience a second class citizen Third person verse four fam member immigrant 5 sided pentagon, triple 6 presidents All led me to never forget where the seven lives… The Prince of Poets, Delivery or relevance the baddest kid Madness with soliloquy and militance In the room between your skeletons and elephants Similar to Arabic calligraphy and lettering. Like speaking to a friend you see the deepest of serenity, sleeping with the enemy, This beat is just end of me, on the roads like a fender But they don’t get the picture still rendering I stay on like my wedding ring, in reverence of many things Never will it ever bring the heaven that I’m leveling Around chasing the sound patient though I don’t talk slow, …………I know, I’m groundbreaking like a pothole…………….
Second hand experience first class citizen Fourth person hurt, third eye in imprisonment, Six million ways to die, 5 days and I rest on The seventh my sister may be right, I’m the Prince of Poets, Jalal Deen Rumi to New Beats, don’t let me hear you saying I’m too deep, I need a dervish as a DJ nervous as the weed may get him, get him serving all the replays, Bid it and hit it like e-bay, my logic is so dope, can’t be a prophet with no doe, you pausing the whole quote Kept me cool like the ozone, so zoned… I need Qadafi’s team of women looking after me, Cold chillin when I might be puffin like happy feet, Sick swagger like Mick Jagger but in agony Rolling stone atrophy, Majesty when I’m Home Alone