Only plant your seed in fertile SOIL

I hold the mic like an Excalibur take the blade out The stone and calculate the weight I bake into powder The paper is power the arm and hammer will harm and blame ya in plane sight knock down your twin towers 911 is what u dial up to feel safe fucking coward Chris Tucker mfs rushing hours niggaz need a shower with a deep scrub and scour while on this side on the earth I want my flowers I Design songs with an octomus prime mind inside of my dome for those who's minds gone in all time zones with poor perception and can't tell the difference between diamonds and rhinestone my life alone I dwell on an astral plane level where the wise roam from the essence of my very being to the marrow in side of my bones I grab microphone and I zone til time is gone live on stage I shit all u see is Carolina pine cones I terminate niggaz like sly stone every word I say beat the vertebrae in the spine homes like a zylophone cause your third gone saturated with cyber foam niggaz fresh off the nigga making machine packed in plastic wrap and styrofoam all kinds of clones that deny their own with a tribal tone young adolescent violently prone to be stoned trying to be grown learning dysfunction inside of the home children become property privately owned by hyenas that turn your legacy into limestone