Dear Diary-hhea, I be droppin' some shit,
but not journals and memoirs, lines and bars.
I stretch my hands out to reach for the stars;
I'm making plans now to live on Mars, cuz I got Earth on lock.
See my mind is like a muse to a paper,
cuz I'm used to a paper drawing blank, til it's got me to think,
I just dip it in my think-tank, fill it with ink, and run
straight through the lines, cuz I can't be stopped.
Impose my will on words, even when they won't,
for example I make words rhyme, even when they don't,
with the hint of vocabulary, even with a quote,
I make your mind all mine until I'm done with it,
cause I have fun with it
pick it up and run with it, score it, and
spike it and
don't take a second to figure out you like it.
If you think you can find a match, then strike it.
It won't ignite, cuz it can't fill my Nikes with
the man-made lake, or a dam, or a dyke, or a canal.
It still cannot float quite like this
atural, deal-breaking, move-making knight
cuz my mic sound right,
even when I write like this.
(You know what I'm saying man, that's what you gotta do sometimes, just lock yourself up in a room and just go at it, you know. Just don't put the pen down until you done with it, like a written freestyle session. Just hit the keys until you got something that you feel, you let it all out your system and get it off your chest.)
I get up in the zone, like a super saiyan.
Superhumans want to say 'em over, drunk or sober.
Mere mortals make a mission out of mixing me with masterpieces, just so they can take it home and play it over.
I dip into a theory til I catch diptheria,
it's scarier than waiting to exhale.
You must know by the time I tap keys
with relative ease, I be contemplating my next tale.
I stay steps ahead, thinking bout the reps ahead,
by the time you're cluing in, it's your rep i'm ruining.
That's like a double pen', both sides screwing in,
one foot in your mouth, one mouth (?) your rear end.
I wanna get to the point where I don't
gotta crush the competition
just because they wanna see my style.
I'm trying to get to the level where the rebels
see the power of my empire,
and they stop and wait a while.
(You know what I'm saying, later for battling, you're talking about the art of war. They say the greatest victory is when you don't even have to go into combat--that's what I'm talking about right there. I mean, I just wanna let people know what the deal is when you step to the plate, all that's on the table right now when you handling this here.)
Let me explain:
this is expository,
why they shut themselves out
to open arms in harm's way,
shook by what dreams may
force themselves upon,
screaming "epon"
that's why their rapids run shallow when my ponds are far gone.
Cool like Calgone,
just back from Cal'forn
and lands beyond, letting foreigners hear my songs,
and back to spawn.
Same ol', same ol',
some on, some off,
some in, some out, all win without a doubt.
Some rise by sunrise, while some guys
try to summarize, those that walk and fall but can't crawl.
See, I'm hip to a critic cuz they're hypocritic,
it's critical that what I'm kickin's just a little bit political.
So consider this a PSA from USA to UK:
Say what you wanna say,
but if you wanna say what everybody else is gonna say,
just remember, don't play games with J.