Im' pained persistently by this cyst of the system's
systematic spawning of that punk sh** patriarchal rap composing
that cremates your creativity get s**ed up through suction for corporate posing
that cranium construct of corporate suits whose paid pursuit
is to recruit a poster boy or girl to pillage youth
who purchase from the purchased toddlers prematurely pushed to vocal booths
the focal truth is once the greedy grips this undertaking with no ruth
the green does it's thing mercilessly; objective consciousness pollute
So' 1' 2' Like Lin Que
Said let's let it fall on them
Beat Luther like from that flick Set it Off and drop it' all on them
for the sake of the art-form as we fervently form Hip-Hops Fem Front and strikingly storm
soundwaves of cataclysm, s**ism and cultural thievery
we'll reign down tsunamis submerging 97 frequencies
with power, we can seize and sink 105 stations
pause cross that sea with a song from my ladies of rage before uprooting more pulsation
proceed to fight chief wocka keef I shoot flames at flocka
no simile sympathy for record execs me and my comrades just buck straight shots at ya
play with mic cords mags and yoyo's strings to
choke out vocal cords of sir swag yolo bling
and then resurrect left eye, then resurrect left eye
to run up on Rick Ross like Rison
Cause' maybachs pushing rape epidemics are not surviving
life and truth despise him so he shouldn't find it surprising
when hit with this apocalypticl uprising
Pardon that emergence of this insurgents aggressive presentation
that's just my pent up poetics and figurative frustration
and before i'm called out for any self conditioned contradiction
yes I still blast Nas, Pac, Pun Wu and other forms of Non-Phixion
Whose struggle scripted rendition, provided for my own therapeutic prescription
to deal with f**ed up pain, maternal friction and ironically the mentality of the male condition
So to be freed versus being imprisoned by bars
look past what's backwards in other words retroflexion
as my lexicon retroactively plays tribute to retro-perfection
like the oranges that bloomed in Jerz such as the chorus loop
U.N.I.T.Y Latifah let em' know U.N.I.T.Y
that spells an L Boogie jam down by the floras stoop
many misses and melodies warned me deviate from destruction
Dammit I gotta chill, female's never left the mic still
I miss melodie of Miss Hill Love Monie Love
Even Roxanne Ladybug Mecca who hit me with a slug
a crazy diss on Black Sheep's show at 15
I'd already ingested her nickle bags of funk at 14
So i'd stay committed to those 16's
like soliloquies spoken by Illadelph's colossul queen
Bahamadia, repressed from top tens but propelled pens high like an Aaliyah
plus the scores of shapeshifting metaphors from MC Lyte withered warm my dome's rhythmical repertoire
inspection, dissection piecing this piece together through your own introspection
then one can't blame my disdain for the bigoted rap game
and my call for music and the state's insurrection