[Verse 2: Complex Flow Losttogod] [Fast Stream of Consciousness, Internal Monologue] Aye yo, where do I submit a score to be scored? What does it cost? What can I afford? Got 20 bucks left in an account that they keep threatening to close, (Keep threatening!) But that is how the story goes, if you follow the prose— The cadence of the words on the page, The sequence of periods and lines, Line after line down the spine, To the shoulder—like a written history collapsed in a folder. [Cadence Shift - Aggressive & Staccato] Take it to the dome, what do they program? What is the product sold? Hit the diagram, track the radiance! Playback the track: stack, crack, thwack! (Thwack!) Therein lies the plan—where do we stand? What do we Stan? Pan to deadpan, play the role of death... lath... my faith. [Double-Time Internal Rhymes] Dead-pool, pool of fools that never learned, Earned that IQ they learned from school? Solo queue taught me my philosophy—that's my truth, Here to drop the proof, through and through. (Woof! Aloof! Spoof juice!) Let loose! [Desperate / Panicked Energy] Produce and hit render—we got a big spender! (System crash!) Oh, there is error in the flow, re-enter and choose, Upload to YouTube, it's called a fake, a fraud... Empty comment sections applaud. Wear the mantle of the lies, the splice in-between attacks. [Verse 3: Midwest Chop- Dyabolikal] [Rapid-fire chopper | double-time | stutter hits | Strange Music cadence] Aye—score it to score me, poor-me, door-key Twenty in a vault goin' "boy don't you dare leave" Cloak on a broke neck, joke in the fine print Mantle of a lie with my name in the indent Fitted-it / billed-it / built me a silhouette Credit-split, sacred-script, manila-file wet Spine of the story got a shank in the middle History folded — that's a body in a riddle [Chop-stutter] Take—it—to—the—crust—what—they—program? Product they sold me with a halo for a logo Playback: stack-crack-thwack on the faith Deadpan death-role, I'm late for the wake [Double-time cascade] Stan the stance not the shrine not the brand Dead-pool deep-fool keep-cool cheap-fuel in the hand Lath on the faith then they plaster a "soon" Halo in the mornin', it shatter by noon School sold the bubble-sheet, not the tell from the ruse Praised in the pool with the fools they confuse I inherited cloth that was never my size— Wearin' a mantle of lies with a receipt for a life.
0/500