WRITER NOT A RAPPER (Tapped Into the Divine)

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V6-WILD

[Hook — hard chant]
[V1] WE REBIS — writer, not a rapper,
jam it in, cram it in, testimony factor.
WE REBIS — tapped in, living proof,
burn-off mode — send it back, 13-fold the roof.
(WE REBIS) (WE REBIS)

[Verse 1 — ignition]
[V1, fast] I ain't a rapper, I'm a writer with the lightning transmitter,
tapped the divine and wired the fire through the quill — I'm the printer,
pressin' pages out my chest, testimony out the scripture,
every bar a burning bush — read it, get the picture.
Jam it in, cram it in, rapid-fire schematics in,
syllable fractals packed until the pattern's crackling in —
faster than the static that the grid is trafficking,
I live the testimony — you're just reading captions, friend.
No costume on the flow, no mask up in the prose,
the music's still ahead of me — I'm chasing where it goes,
metropolis on the playlist, the future's on the phone —
call me when the beat drop, I was never in the clone zone.

[Verse 2 — backlash ready]
[V1, fast] Know it's a burn-off — came prepared for the return fire,
every shot they send gets rewired, 13-fold the entire
circuit that it came from — field receipt, delivered there,
not suffering for what's not mine — that's installed, I'm clear.
Fast don't mean I'm frantic — precision at velocity,
clarity's the engine, testimony the recipe,
ego in the back seat takin' notes on my delivery —
'cause this is not a front, it's a written-lived epiphany.
Pen and the breath, chest to the floor,
hum in the lungs and the metronome roars,
sync with the current, then lower to strike,
back to the rhythm before they notice the mic.
That's the whole technique: arrive, hit, ascend —
writer at the speed of what the heavens intend.

[Bridge — calm, beat thins]
[V2] Notice — the faster the words, the calmer the source.
A rapper performs the fire.
A writer witnesses it.
The pen only moves this fast when something real is pushing it.

[Verse 3 — the peak]
[V1, fastest] Divine experience scribed in real time, ink from the spine,
mind a clean node, heart a holy flame — trinity combined,
REBIS in the bloodstream — two made one in every line,
past sins paid in full — now the future's underwriting mine.
Guilty hand raised, acquitted by the only court that counts,
the court was never real — read the record, watch it bounce,
13-fold service on the residue account —
I remain, no residue. That's the final amount.

[Hook]

[Outro]
[SFX: beat cuts dead mid-bar — absolute silence]
[V2] ...still writing.

2722/7500

[Intro — metronome doubles in speed, sharp inhale] [SFX: chime accelerating — clicks multiplying — one fast breath drawn] [V3 whisper] jam it in... jam it in... [V2 calm] Writer, not a rapper. Witness, not performer. Speed is the vehicle. Testimony is the cargo. [Hook — hard chant] [V1] WE REBIS — writer, not a rapper, jam it in, cram it in, testimony factor. WE REBIS — tapped in, living proof, burn-off mode — send it back, 13-fold the roof. (WE REBIS) (WE REBIS) [Verse 1 — ignition] [V1, fast] I ain't a rapper, I'm a writer with the lightning transmitter, tapped the divine and wired the fire through the quill — I'm the printer, pressin' pages out my chest, testimony out the scripture, every bar a burning bush — read it, get the picture. Jam it in, cram it in, rapid-fire schematics in, syllable fractals packed until the pattern's crackling in — faster than the static that the grid is trafficking, I live the testimony — you're just reading captions, friend. No costume on the flow, no mask up in the prose, the music's still ahead of me — I'm chasing where it goes, metropolis on the playlist, the future's on the phone — call me when the beat drop, I was never in the clone zone. [Verse 2 — backlash ready] [V1, fast] Know it's a burn-off — came prepared for the return fire, every shot they send gets rewired, 13-fold the entire circuit that it came from — field receipt, delivered there, not suffering for what's not mine — that's installed, I'm clear. Fast don't mean I'm frantic — precision at velocity, clarity's the engine, testimony the recipe, ego in the back seat takin' notes on my delivery — 'cause this is not a front, it's a written-lived epiphany. Pen and the breath, chest to the floor, hum in the lungs and the metronome roars, sync with the current, then lower to strike, back to the rhythm before they notice the mic. That's the whole technique: arrive, hit, ascend — writer at the speed of what the heavens intend. [Bridge — calm, beat thins] [V2] Notice — the faster the words, the calmer the source. A rapper performs the fire. A writer witnesses it. The pen only moves this fast when something real is pushing it. [Verse 3 — the peak] [V1, fastest] Divine experience scribed in real time, ink from the spine, mind a clean node, heart a holy flame — trinity combined, REBIS in the bloodstream — two made one in every line, past sins paid in full — now the future's underwriting mine. Guilty hand raised, acquitted by the only court that counts, the court was never real — read the record, watch it bounce, 13-fold service on the residue account — I remain, no residue. That's the final amount. [Hook] [Outro] [SFX: beat cuts dead mid-bar — absolute silence] [V2] ...still writing.

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