I've got my mind on my moneyI've got my mind on my money

In the end I never harmed any of you,
when you were down.
I held you high, I drank your pains, it left me dry.
Does that make you Satisfied?

Heard this one whispered through the cracks in the xylophone
Olfactory sensation is of coffee and the styrofoam
As for battle raps and who's the dopest
Learned to take it lightly like my mother's jew neurosis
Prognosis was never be the baron of this rap shit
But you know what they say, let them wear it if the cap fit
Im rocking mine with pride and style it up
Slightly angled to the side, crunk, wilding on the cut
Scratch an accapella like a lottery ticket
Dug some Donald Byrd out the crate, flipped it
Love to make her shake and taste her lipstick
The way she flakes the brisket, it really takes the biscuit
When I rips it, like a Jedi knight with the force in me
Walk the fine line between debauchery and sorcery
Microphone magician, construct an algorithm with precision
Rhyming Wittgensteinian logician on a mission
Wishing upon a star..
Green to the T with the caviar now check the reference
Musical allusions in the sessions
Plus youthful optimism is itself an act of reverence






Dont get no water on the gremlins
Get slaughtered like Lemmings
Make 'em board up the Kremlin
High treason.. down with the regent

I was harassed and fought like Harrison Ford
in that one episode of South Park where he's buried in cock.
Blood gushing from his orifice like sherry or port,
while all of ya'll just watched like an american sport.
Where are your balls? I'm tearing you all
a new jap's eye. Rap fly, that is why i carry the torch.
The chairman of boards; the ferryman of yachts;
the baddest mothafucka that you ever heard, but that ain't your fault.
If you had any idea of the mind focus
that goes into every word that I write on this
peace of paper, you couldn't breathe on the mic, homes.
It's the speech Vader teaching you hitting the right tones with
my ill voice. You couldn't read me a tight poem if
your name was Shakespeare, so retreat or rhyme pwned, bitch!
On the real, you believe it's a light joke, kid?
You better think again and go find a new rhyme opponent.