Fiyablasta - Spitzophrenia lyrics

Verse: Hello, bonjour, konichiwa, hola, wa**up! Fellow hardcore offspring, we got no job but bust! So come out to play, no need to be afraid, this beat is our prey And after feasting leave the carca** up for display I implore you to destroy two or more bars if that won't bore you AfterTouch offered this blank canvas so here's the oil Van Gogh hard in the paint for the Sunflower State til it's muddied in Kansas soil Then wait a minute, let me get it. I'ma spit it like the middle west raised me Blazing! Many want to get on this Fiya with a twist, but they end up with an orifice foaming; rabies So the people think that's sick, because it don't click that the quickness got lifted From the Midwest, best section in the whole wide, wide world. The fiasco was giving swine this pearl Get off your soapbox. I can't be accessory to your faux pas 'Sposed to k** it from attic ceiling to finished basement the whole song No nonsense, just the conscious art of bombing Graffiti on tracks with locomotives that hip hop Should I remind you that train of thought is played out Same route been taken so long it's lame now You need to turn up, autotune, trap out, and lean it over to the side Triplet your homicide, flicking lyrics til they rhyme, fitting dimwits in a pine Box that I'm out of That undergroundling connected to you by that wireless router Pinging the meanings of Jupiterans and you're in for abstract thinking Bruising the losers; Black to purple; offensive and hurtful; Jinxing Or is it Ditto if you Mr. Mime the same time Or is it Brillo if you missed a line? My dang mind Bends stupendously endlessly and I see entropy Get the gist? I'm sick! (That Spitzophrenia!) When is it my turn? The mic yearns for me. (No, it don't, homie) (Had my eye on it, so when I lash, I master slave own it) So give it to me, so we can be free; exploring pa**ed norms and formal settings (Are you kidding?) Hand it over! (No way!) STOP! Or I'll be lodging it in your esophagus Til you're oxygen-less and lobbing a fist after (That, sir, is what the problem is: the answer isn't hyperviolent) Keep your peace talks, my sniper's silent You-you done-done messed-messed up-up now-now, I-I pro-pro-test-test Ri-ri-ot-ot-ing-ing on-on wri-wri-ting-ting ain't-ain't best-best One-one at-at a-a time-time per-per verse-verse So-so re-re-sults-sults won't-won't be-be so-so per-per-verse-verse Chorus: That Spitzophrenia (repeated) Threes!