Paper

Spirit of the mountain and the sea,

Hear it from the top and never see shit underneath,

All the acid that I breathe could cause a man to die of madness,

All the bastards that I see are yelling out a cry of sadness,

 

Askin' for forgiveness like a sinner out of element,

Blasting out the business, dressing dirty for the hell of it,

Every single rapper's trying hard just to be relevant,

But instead they're talking trash and cash, the best never benevolent,

 

Never thought of ending on a sick note, I'm ill with composition,

Poke provokers with a stick, though they're all into my position,

Always handing me an artichoke, then say it's a grenade

I just hand them piss and sugar, tell the dick it's lemonade,

 

I'm not one to serenade when I'm on stage and being flashy,

I'm bad without the attitude, my skin is sort of ashy.

My face is out of place, and most of me is sort of rashy,

But the rest is made of fashion, never actin' like I'm trashy,

 

Mr. Goody Two Shoes, acting out too soon,

Give originality while kids are watching Blues Clues,

None of this is new news, I knew the game took over,

Holding youth against their will like an adult over the shoulder,

 

Now these dudes are holding boulders while I'm holding up the room,

Kick the door in, call the shots, and sweep the floor like I'm a broom,

And though my views are pretty low, I'm felling higher than a kite tonight,

I'll keep on spitting fire 'til I blow up like I'm dynamite.

 

I know my mind is kinda right, although I'm off the rocker,

Most of us are sorta out of it, but none of that's a shocker,

I'm sick of assholes pushing raps around and shoving kids in lockers,

I'll hit with colorful catastrophe, so call that ass a doctor.