[Verse: Epidemic]
If I don't set the pen aside it's genocide
There's no repentance, my sentences are the 7th sign
I get a sense you're on the fence of what perfection is
Am I compulsive-obsessive or a perfectionist
What's my direction, I mentioned what my objective is
It's common sense to a sensei, you apprentices
I came to terms & I learned what my imperfections is
I'm either possessive or I'm affectionless
I'm either impressive or what depression is
& I ain't getting defensive but my perspective is
f** the world at my discretion & for emphasis
Add a couple middle fingers in parentheses
& show no sympathy, simpletons trying to throw shots
For goodness sakes it's +in your face+, you're fake as +Botox+
Criticizing while they standing on a soapbox
You giving life to Michaelangelos & Mozarts
The Humphrey Bogart, a young soul with an old heart
Torn apart trying to keep afloat
My flow is Noah's ark
It's +complex+, say +Napoleon+ Bonaparte
I saute
Bon appetite, you n***as sweet
Artificially, sounding kind of salty when you speak
If you listening, I don't give a f** about critique
Or if you dissin me, what you think I barely read the comments
If I'm online, I'm probably jerking off to be honest
So while we're being open with each other, let's acknowledge
If you hate me, it's probably cause you trying to push an artist
& he ain't me, angry hoping nobody notices
That I murdered their careers, my condolences