[vocals: nasal, elastic delivery, playful pitch slides, gravelly yet melodic tone, half-sung half-rapped cadence, spontaneous ad-libs, clever wordplay emphasis, raspy timbre with occasional Auto-Tune, rhythmic stop-start phrasing, signature "yeah" and "uh" ad-libs for texture] [Intro (A complex, fast-paced harpsichord solo plays alone for 4 bars) (Record scratch)] [Beat Drop] [(A deep, booming 808 drops with skittering hi-hats)] (Ad-lib whisper: Composer...) [(Sound of a lighter flick)] [Verse 1] Manuscript on tha music stand, a candlestick an' a cup of lean They studyin' tha fingerin', they tryna crack tha whole routine My logic is immaculate, my symphonies is accurate I'm laughin' at tha pastorate, my labyrinth is passionate They wanna read my notes, nah, they cannot see my notes My brain is operatic, all you rappers just some single notes A polyphonic prodigy, honestly, an oddity Built this whole economy on disciplined cacophony [Chorus (The beat hits harder. A massive pipe organ joins, playing chords under the harpsichord melody)] Yeah, they call me tha maestro, orchestrate tha night glow Wrist on absolute zero, but tha mind is pyro Movin' through tha measures wit' a metronome fo' a pulse Writin' my concertos to accumulate results [Hook - Female soul vocals ] They studyin' tha composition, but this just a contradiction Gilded age ambition on a collision mission [Verse 2] Check tha counterpoint, my counter arguments is sharper I'm playin' chess on every beat, a lyrical grandmaster, see tha farther Future I'm composin', tha posture I've been holdin' Is centuries of chosen, my thoughts is pure gold-en-graved On tablets they can't save, a tidal wave in a sound wave Misbehaved in tha nave, got tha whole cathedral rave-in' My flow is a cantata, my pockets fulla sonatas I don't need no prompter, I am tha prima donna [Chorus (The beat hits harder. A massive pipe organ joins, playing chords under the harpsichord melody)] Yeah, they call me tha maestro, orchestrate tha night glow Wrist on absolute zero, but tha mind is pyro Movin' through tha measures wit' a metronome fo' a pulse Writin' my concertos to accumulate results [Hook - female soul vocals] They studyin' tha composition, but this just a contradiction Gilded age ambition on a collision mission [Bridge (The beat and harpsichord cut out abruptly. A lone, sorrowful cello plays a simple, melodic line. The vocals are female soul heavily auto-tuned, almost robotic and melancholic.)] Tha ink it never dries... Tha melodies, they never lie... They think this genius is a phase... But I've been writin' this fo' seven hundred twenty thousand days... [Outro (The harpsichord melody returns, but slower, more deliberate. The beat does NOT return.)] From powdered wigs to platinum chains... From horse-drawn carriage to tha high-speed lanes... Tha name keeps changin' but tha hands remain... tha same... (Ad-lib whisper: Fugue state...) [(Harpsichord plays the final intricate run and ends on a single, resonant note)]
