BMX - Aesop Rock, Blueprint, Rob Sonic

You want to know why?

Because I’m

Dead messengers buried in their Melvin shirts

Awoken as reanimated mummies from the sepulcher

Anonymous and secular and ribbons and exposed brain

Roll with grown men who still use code names

Fold crawl space on the SS coat tails

Might chase six legs through his oatmeal

Oh dear, no pets eat his own homework

Pet cruise cobble step shoes that are bone bugs

Holmes, sick to the fishbone comb

My yellow brick shtick ain’t tip toe prone

It’s a misthrown sticky bomb slipping off the fingers wrong

Any blips you’re witnessing are living in the Sigma laws

Blip, blip, dag, these ghosts need a doctor

Shelter, clean Dunlops on a walker

She sells sea shells, he draws revenge

Plots on a chalkboard, watch what you walk toward

Live free, die fat

Rock shot to a kill screen time lapse

Watch how the blitzkrieg climax

Spring clean hijack, bring me my axe

Girl: What are you doing up there?

Guy: Stealing, I’m a weekend burglar

Girl: I’m on my lunch break, you want to help me kill half an hour?

Guy: No.

I’m laying in a cut overstuffed from a bad meal

Staring at the sun, on my back like a fat seal

Debating with myself about whether not rap’s real

Cause broke motherfuckers are the only ones that have skill

Everybody got intentions that they can’t reveal

Major label acts got to act like they don’t have deals

Claiming grassroots, I’m like «hell no

Your buzz is as organic as Monsanto.»

I’m going at your beanstalk, ax in hand

Over a beat by Aes Rock, that’s my man

People sleeping still believing that we haven’t expanded

But that’s just a small part of the master plan, bitch

Printnificent, shining 'till your skin chafe

Write until the pen ache, reclining by a big lake

I’m only winning cause I went in an gettin' waked

Chillin' at the crib by the time you get your shit straight

You suppose robots would enjoy listening to music?

You figure that if robots are electronic creations they

Enjoy listening to electronic music

You think you can create a scientific symphony

We’d not only send to our metal friends but

Would also be fascinating to human ears

You already have, and it’s on the other side of the record

I can’t wait to hear it

MIDI with a drum change queue

Cherries in the mirror of his Mustang too

Took his thang from the South to the Rocklin Hooters

Bought her wings and a round, then he chopped and screwed her

Cops at the Getty so he thumbed his nose up

Pedal to the metal, leave them dunked in donuts

Stuck on «so what?»

from the aged Tequila

When he drove into the back of an eighteen-wheeler

Basic leader, camp is cardboard

The jet chooses raps to advance their shark soar

Marked for M*A*S*H* out my cordial stingers

Address you crossly, corporal clinger

Attention all freaks with newer footing

My radio is not played by Cuba Gooding

Now, who’s assuming that the man’s a block boy

Cause he keep his fam happy with lots of Bok Choy