V1 It’s time for me to ride my invitation to the room/ A product of them baby-boomers, but I never believed in kids blowin’ up Into celebrities/ With no indemnities these cartoon characters makin’ tunes/ But you can’t pay no dues in wombs/ But In return, I burn my etching on the moon/ I learned my lesson on the loom, in essence, I will truly bloom/ I paint with all the colors of the wind like I was Judy Kuhn/ I tend to hit that booty soon, type of pum-pum I will consume/ When I’m bangin’, I’m goin’ ‘Boom-Boom-Boom’/ And brothers think I’m out there, Raining pain in your contained monsoon/ I’ll play your game like Final Doom. Where there’s no eNd take it to 64 levels of graphic planes/ And you can feel the texture mappin’ on your brain/ What’s next to happen doesn’t change-/ I resume, so don’t assume I flex to rappin’ just for cappin/ I’m laughin At these wannabe MC’s, desolated like dune/ My tracks are more anticipated than the month of June in public schoolrooms/ I’ve got that ‘Boom-Boom-Bap, Original Rap’/ I wanna track it back, so fuck the clappin’ gats and satin macks/ Cause I’ve got tons of backing that’s available to crack A stack/ of the wackest actors trying to rap- They’re gettin’ flat/ Like the bitches I used to Peep in 7th grade/ It’s 7 days till dawn, while RBM we breakin’ the norm to keep it on/ And even though I’m Monotone at certain points within my diction/ My depiction of reality is fixed within your vision ‘Cause you’re Fixed.
Chorus: Creatively castrated. (Niggas be Fixed) Critically/Publicly overrated. (Niggas be Fixed) And, yo, Nothing’s innovated. (Niggas be Fixed)
V2 So, Skiddly-Bebop, We-Rock, Scooby Doo/ Guess what, America? “We Love You”/ With a ‘Rock’ and a ‘Roll’, and there’s so much soul/ Yo, we’ll be rockin’ till we’re a hundred and one years old/ Now, I don’t mean to brag and yo, I don’t mean to boast/ But I’m the host with the most that rocks shows Coast to coast/ East-West meets best. (305) like, whatever, hops/ I format the rhythm to give you the whole big picture like its letterbox/ And, yo, it never stops. I’m that bunny energizing/ Purgatori’s under the pink, don’t play boy scouts when I’m exercising/ But, I digress. I press the bench for time, your dead-lines make me late/ Don’t stall to sell me a quarter pounder for $6.50, yo, cause that ain’t worth the wait/weight/ I’m wizzin’ on your click, and still you insist I’m on your dick/ You’re just a sparkle-puss, like David Copperfield’s hookers are Magic Tricks/ Imagine this… you’re smoking cannabis while I’m becoming the man at this/ Amateur panelist, plan to turn purple like an amethyst/ In a world with no Quartz/Courts, basketballs, laws, or gems/ To which it applies, the moment I visualize the bitter demise of them/ I hit ‘em when eyes are blind to minimalize their literal lies, and then/ I sit and I fiddle with the rhymes they’ve crafted and they get shafted in the end/ Ask the question- Who’s got the rhythm? I’m coming off like Janet’s panties/ Ever since 1814, and greatfully she don’t wear Grannies/ ‘Cause that’s deader than Jerry Garcia, but via his fans I need a fix/ To crack the heads of these self-pipe-tootin’, lyrical bitches sucking dicks. Your Fixed.
Chorus
V3 MC’s are fixed but never mended, they get blue in the face/ And that be, like, true in the case where there’s no space for Gravity/ ‘I Breathe Deep’, ‘cause the malady that salary’s the strategy/ Of the modern rap academy saddens me/ Studied the anatomy of musicality where Critics are the analogy observed/ Don’t give a shit about the Comp-U-Serve/ You virtually can’t escape the net reality casts/ Because my web be world wide… Better believe I got my sign-on your ass/ I be that Prodigy that raves On-lines of text in America/ I still refuse to be your fuckin’ cartoon character/ ‘Cause, babe, I keep it pure/ So, maybe if my death was premature, then, I’d be sure to win an award/ And you can quote that from the source, I criticize my critics…/ Shit, it must’ve broken down some doors, so now we minimize the limits/ That’s set inside us by the cynics; and those who wanna mimic this with tricks/ Get diminished down the River of Styx. Cause you’re fixed.
Chorus
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