Sunday, May 20, 2012

Hi-Tek


Listen the fuck up as I assert lyrically prominent
Empirically dominant not missin' the damn cup
Pouring from the pitcher I'm passing to the pup

Roaring 'come the stitcher' and there's never any stoppin' it
Cleverly droppin' wit imploring I'm the richer
Swappin' the stupid swaggers, can you swallow the switcher?

Moppin' up lupus beggars, werewolves afraid of my bullet
Paid me to pull it, I was poppin' the troop lagger
Getting ready the gats, the getaway gagger

Betting steady on cats not knowing about the caper
Flowing the route on paper setting thready the stats
Twelve to fifteen tweaks free the form for you twats

The maniac brainiac playin' the track whacker
Sprayin' perfection then slantin', the contraster
Four loose lines, chorus, then back to the pattern

Chorus
It's like Street Fighter, like Gen's cursed cross-up
What's that mean? The verse is as ambiguous as fuck
And I am as big as a bus when sewin' this shit shut

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