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Verse 1
I’ve grown up, I’ve grown harder,
I’ve grown stronger, I’ve grown smarter.
I’m a firestarter, like a reporter,
And I oughta, strike holes in your aorta.
I disestablish the established order.
I’m strange to these lands, to rap I’m a foreigner.
Anyone who wants beef I’ll have meet the coroner.
Spit through my teeth, live to wreak disorder.
I rhyme like a mime, silent as father time,
My skin color’s like demographics realigned.
Cross the line, fight to toss a dime,
And prove to these minds my gift is a sign.
I don’t argue, even though it aint hard too,
Find myself defending my rights to taunt you,
Throw the fact that I’m white across you,
Then mosh you, with these lines and bounce off you.
Chorus
Take the mic, It’d be my honor,
If only I could see the face of my father,
My mother, sister, nephew and brother,
How would they react to this rap I wonder.
(repeat)
Verse 2
It’s been a cold year, renewing old fears,
Never seen a soul clear, sense the day I moved here.
Every day I grow near, the dream I hold dear,
The whole frontier, and I’m a pioneer.
It’s just another day, to leave lives in disarray,
To your dismay, I might be heading your way.
You will obey, resistance is blown away,
You’ve become prey, so pray without delay.
I’m a villain, instillin fear into the millions.
Civilians, innocent victims in the billions.
My minions, entire space time continuum,
Continue to run, your on the menu your done.
I’m hooked on this cookbook, he’s shook look.
I took my time on this crook, now he’s getting cooked.
It’s fire to the pyrotechnical rook,
My rhyme style’s a vessel to leave you forsook.
Chorus
Verse 3
Smack mother Teresa in the face with a razor,
This is when my psychopathical self comes to face ya.
Mess you up with the blades, this is just a clean shaver,
The closest shave you ever had, Professor Xavier
Now meet the end of rapier, no one is crazier,
Goin outta my way for ya, toss you into my brazier,
Fly to Saudi Arabia, or somewhere in Asia,
Then play a drinking game every time I see a Caucasian.
Little Anastasia meeting anesthesia,
Which leads to amnesia, hypoesthesia.
Its whatever pleases ya, Cleopatra teasing ya,
Don’t you know the meaning of unrequited love?
I’m a little schizo when I’m on an instrumental,
Cuz I hit so many high notes I exhale a sick crescendo.
Like a riddle on a fiddle in the middle of Sacramento,
I get mental for some skittles, peanut brittle in the hospital.
Now u in hospice, cuz of moshin in mosh pits,
And ur husband is nauseous, cuz u were drunk when u lost it,
U were straight but you crossed it, to a Los Angeles convict,
Televangelist conflict, more contradicting than a religious agnostic.
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