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R.I.P.C.D.

The rhyme is so raw, most these rappers need a seminar

You copy the same schematics, you making the same songs

You thought that you were the only, but understand it's the physical

Artistry manifest, but know I [?] original art

Sick as creation no need for further analysis

Plus the beats bang prestige giving me calluses

Even if it's assumed, proving it all again

Selling out all the souls never selling out who I am

Mild temper venter, chronic keep me casual

Formally introduced to a journey into the natural

The three, two zeros then proceeded by one

Laced like your woven tennis shoes before you go run

Danger danger, Will Robinson

There's a crisis here, nappy ain't dirty

Raised this man it's just a type of hair

Nightmares have just begun, there's no enticing him

Limbs relaxed, but your music pop like a Vicodin

R.I.P. to the CD can't even play my hits

Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit

We love to boost the speed

We love the memoryIt got me feeling light with nothing like we used to beSmoke smoke drip sip sip sip

Eyes closed like a [?]

No forgiveness, just a sick bitch

Cause I'm under destruction what is this?

Just a young nigga ready to get this

If I fall on my face, you're my witness

Feast on my blood when I leave this

Didn't mention I'm starting to think that

This world is [?] like a sea ship

Walking to hell with the demons

How can the heavens defeat them?

Sometimes I just wanna, leave 'em

This feeling is something I can't [?]

I just wanna be where I came from

I'm never gon' see where I came from

Rest in peace to the Queen son

Brooklyn baby reborn

This is like a warning Flatbush swarming Nike shoes onProve them critics wrong getting cream bitch I love it

And the fans hold us down, put nothing above

R.I.P. to the CD can't even play my hits

Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit

We love to boost the speed

We love the memory

It got me feeling light with nothing like we used to be

The wickedest, man of fire the new Richard Pryor

The wicked lit, rubber on my dick

Cause I don't want that Charlie Sheen shit

Please don't say you're the highest until you met your highness

I just, want the head like ISIS

Fuck her so precise her pussy gushing like a geyser

I'm Michael Myers with these grip pliers took off your eyelids

I sit in silence, speaking tongues and burnt bibles

So open letter to all of my rivals you will not vanquish my titles

My semi-automatic, will splatter a nigga like Jackson Pollock

Deranged since birth I was conceived in an insane asylum

I solemnly swear this evening to refrain from the violence

Young and wilding, psilocybin still my style

LSD drops in my iris, police sirens

No guidance, the belly of the beast is where I reside in

Grimy and vibrant like Busta Rhymes, in the early 90's

Click boom, your head blew like you play for the Giants

Lyrical tyrant the way I be rhyming

I deserve all of the [?] surprises my pistol be hiding I pull it surprise 'em

My voice can be hypnotizing every verse I deliver be vivid and visually striking

Been the highest since I arrived and the climate is rising

It's 'bout to get violent cover your eye and take this lyrical dose Doctor Meechy prescribed

I slide inside her I love her tight vagina no [?]

Back to the cypher I got chronic to light up pass me the lighter

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