Its Me

Yeah. Look Check the atmospheric pressure before you step into the chamber. You brought a spark to a solar flare flare-up. Let’s dismantle the framework. Watch. ​[VERSE] I’m the architect of architectures you couldn't fathom with a compass, Anomalous with the phonics, dropping sonics that leave you unconscious. You’re a novelty acting sovereign, a sovereign without a province, I’m a novelist writing obits for cowards who lack a conscience. See the syntax is symbiotic with synapses that are firing, You’re a simulated synthetic, a cynic who’s just expiring. I spin spirals of spinal fluid, dividing your whole alignment, Leave your carcass in dark apartments, a testament to confinement. I’m the ghost in the great machine, the glitch in your matrix coding, An alchemist turning copper to gold while your camp’s corroding. You talk heavy but walk steady on ice that is melting rapidly, I’m a localized supernova, collapsing your whole anatomy. ​[0:31 - 1:00] Etch the sketch of the executioner, execute with a execution, Your best release is a dilute solution to my revolution. I’m executioner-level clever, a lever that moves the planet, You’re a pebble amidst the granite, panic-stricken and taking damage. The lexicon is a weapon I wield with a surgeon’s posture, You’re an imposter, a ghostwriter’s foster, a budget monster. I decipher the hieroglyphics of industry puppet masters, And broadcast the truth to masses, bypassing your plastic pastors. It’s chess, not checkers, but I’m playing with three dimensions, An intervention for your suspension of disbelief and tension. I draw blood from a stone, you draw blanks from a loaded chamber, A total stranger to danger, I’m the anchor that harbors anger. ​[1:01 - 1:30] Let’s elevate the debate to a state of internal malice, I drink the venom of vipers directly from golden chalices. You’re a palace built on the sand, a vanguard of empty promises, I’m the ghost of Doubting Thomas dissecting your false hydroponics. The flow is a subterranean river that’s carving canyons, Abandon your camp companions, I’m dismantling your expansions. You’re a footnote in my anthology, an apology to the genre, I’m the karma that comes to harm ya, a trauma inside your armor. Metaphorically, I’m the entropy splitting the atom’s core, An iron jaw on a lion’s paw, what you rapping for? You’re a mannequin in a panic room, a casualty of the climate, I’m the pinnacle of the cynical, the criminal who designed it. ​[1:31 - 2:00] (Beat cuts out momentarily for the first four bars, vocal delivery intensifies) Listen close to the prose, it’s a rosary made of razor blades, A masquerade where the actors fade into the darker shades. I don’t battle you, I evaluate your systemic flaws, And write clauses that cause pauses in your applause. (Beat drops back in heavy) Back to the rhythm, the algorithm is calculating your exit, A complex fix for a simple prick who is conceptually dyslexic. I’m the nexus of the infectious, the vector of your demise, A specter in your reflection, correcting your record’s lies. You buy streams but can’t buy the esteem of the purists listening, Your crown is glistening but the cubic zirconia’s sickening. I’m a monolithic mythology, a sovereign of the subterranean, Breaking your cranium, spilling titanium down the drain again. ​[2:01 - 2:30] Let’s talk about the trajectory, the geometry of the bars, I’m throwing darts from the dark that are tearing apart the stars. You’re a localized anomaly, a comedy of errors, I’m the mirror that brings the terror, the era of holy horrors. The vocabulary’s a cemetery where your career is buried, A vision scary, my emissaries are customary and varied. I put a tax on your syntax, a levy upon your lyrics, I’m a skeptic of your aesthetics, a critic of your empirics. You claim you’re a heavyweight but you levitate on my breath alone, A stepping stone to the throne, I’m a clone-killer in the zone. I pull the pins out of hand grenades and hand 'em to your entourage, Your whole entourage is a mirage, a garage sale sabotage. ​[2:31 - 3:00] (Final crescendo, delivery becomes rapid-fire internal rhymes) So wrap the shroud around your pride, the undertaker is in the room, A sonic boom that consumes the room from the womb to the tomb. You’re an echo in an enclosure, a closure to your ambition, A superstition that lacks the friction to cause fission. I’m the absolute definition of executing intuition, A politician of composition, position your disposition. The bars are heavy as lead, they embed inside of your forehead, A thoroughbred of the overhead, leaving your legacy dead. Time’s up on the clock, the pendulum swings to stop your heart, I tore your blueprint apart before you could even start. 101 on the BPM, but I’m infinitely ahead of you... Microphone drops. There’s nothing left to schedule. ​[OUTRO] ​(Beat fades out with the sound of a heart monitor flatlining, leaving just the echo of the final words).