V1 It goes automatic, systematic, world control/ Magnetic, genetic, synthetic/ We keep it energetic, all the while innovative/ Totally invigorated/ We made it not to break it, but to take it to take it to a whole ‘nother type of plateau/ Rockin’ rhymes on the regular-FLOW/ Liquefied within the manner/ The kinda stamina to land expand a panorama/ I stretch and swell and always making sure my best is well initiated/ You’re jaded and you’re over stimulated/ Which indicates I’ve been exonerated, vindicated/ From this Amalgamated rhythmic trip through 21st century technology/ Colliding with Hop-Hop philosophy with absolutely no apologies/ I constantly keep it scholarly, so I suggest you follow me/ Or get caught up in the wake of change/ Because, I’ll take the strange and rearrange it/ And still maintain the same flavors it came with, to get your brains lit/ So please don’t memorize the same script/ And figure it’s phat just because it changed lips/ Your ending up with sprained wrists from holding the microphone the wrong way/ Burn 20 matchboxes on a long day/ So let the song play, and then you’ll begin to understand/ The anti-mathematical stand of machine versus man/ The grand Musical synthesis, and I’ve been into this forever/ But figured the time was now right to pull the lever/ I’m keeping it together. Synthetic.
V2 I go the world over, but never hold it on my shoulder/ In fact, the world collapses when I drop it/ But I never let go of the way I knock a topic/ Cuz Title wise, your miniscule and microscopic/ If you need the juice, then I’mo block the socket/ With enough to knock Anna right out the tropics/ I plot this with a masterful touch/ I want the world but never ask you for much/ I got a crutch- you play lyrical double dutch and hop scotch/ The process is top notch in all parameters damage ya’ while you watch/ Lines thicker than ink spots could ever blotch/ On the dot, time is irrelevant to me like an elephant memory/ I hold a grudge and then you’ll see that if you try to make a smudge/ I’ll leave a mark that won’t budge/ I’m indelible within a credible performance/ Permanently totaled when my point’s enormous and you’re scoreless/ And you’ve been waiting for this/ No bull like zodiacs without the Taurus/ Year-round, cutting pricks off like a florist/ When ya suck, you’re bound to leech men like Chloris/ And Grant you unemployed like I’m Horace/ Magically rebound the chorus. Synthetic.
V3 Just don’t gimme no plaudible excuse, like/ You never had the chance to be produced right/ Then, like, it suits ya right, to bend like a two-striped twine/ You see, when I combine lyrical splines on the rhyme/ I create a curved surface/ With sounds utilized for any obscure purpose/ I resign from any act of your circus/ I juggle the line schemes cause I’m keen to all assumptions/ Devoid of all repetitive functions of mass productions/ And power luncheons, we’re underground and scour dungeons/ The undulations manifestations and correlations/ Can all be traced through my patience, preparations and well constrained placement/ I got the Tone Control, ain’t nobody own my soul/ Using the mic to hone my goal of dominance through creativity and air-tight flows/ I like my sample rate low/ A DJ’s sixth wish is he could mix this on radio shows/ The first five went to weed, chicks, and dough/ Lots of vinyl and a chance to go pro/ But not every wish is granted- So/ A 3/3 Time signature won’t go right/ Or flicker to time just like a strobe light/ But guaranteed to pick up a slow night/ And toss it to the wind/ Competition’s light as a rock. I spread that ass paper thin/ Cause MC’s I never take lightly, like perjury/ I’ll steal your mind, internal burglary/ I’m sure you’ve heard of me/ Keeping their young minds open like infant skull surgery.
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