BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Parallel Pen
- Yo
- Ecstatic calligraphy, son of a noble father, 3rd generation from my grandparents harbour
- Charcoal rap, Benadryl couldn’t cure this type of ill, with the painkiller flow that I spill
- From my grill, ain’t lookin’ like RCAA, cuz I got no plaques but I contain a lotta cheese
- Pass the lye to me, find me foreign rippin’ rides in slides with a cute face next me me
- Touch her with my magic hands and her soul begins to fashion dance
- Undo her pants, I got her yielding her pleasures into a grand trance
- You couldn’t beat me if you had one hundred of your man’s mans
- Cuz they all shams, they all sweat through their glands and ran
- From the iron duel of Kalligraphy, striking fools reading Marx in a liturgy
- Looking at the ways of the world that bite the cool off of the hardest men, literally
- Never still, always moving like objects within the hands of gravity
- Bow to your majesty and vow to me you’ll never commit a travesty
- Upon my reign, the song I sang, Achilles couldn’t defile this body, that’s his tragedy
- Poisonous darts aiming at the hearts at young girls and boys in parks
- Ain’t no game, play hard, sway the large cup of ice, see the preacher talkin’ trife
- Jacked his jacket when the mass ended and in his pockets there were Trojans, nice
- Pastor is pimp, you could tell by his eyes, look deep, every man wants a slice
- Of a hooker with the thighs, onlookers of the lights in the city, living nice
- Dealing mice shuffled cards puffing cigars, rodents roving in my acres
- Apartment gardens, I got the watery plants with the greenest flavours
- Leaves are like “Really Doe?” But I just tell ‘em it’s nothing major
- And to sit back and enjoy the sounds of the verbal nativity manger
- I could never bare an L, stare and fell on my eyes, parallel, I don’t care for hell
- Rather burn than learn more about God justifying his murder amongst those who rebel
- Those foes I can tell won’t ever come close to my shell, all aces I’ve been dealt
- With 2 more stuck in my sleeves, snatch em and proceed
- Crack their mommas like hatch, they couldn’t match my typa greed
- 0 dollars for 100% of your wack company…you’re worth nothing more
- Ain’t no motherfucker talking to me like he doesn’t have a cracked jaw
- Smacked to the floor, evade the cops on the building and guess who I saw?
- Dave the dope fiend shooting heroin watching reruns of Errol Flynn
- I’m in, canoe and kayak fishin’, hookin’ gators out of slimy swamps
- This typa hydro that I smoke would kill you if you took a tiny bump
- I got that tiger balm in my eyes so my vision can see better
- But it burns like the sun’s beams running in a green sweater
- Totally uttering random shit that still makes sense when you dig deeper
- Just like God creating the universe and we’re all the innkeepers
- Peace up
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