Stop the presses
This newsflash photography has captured translations from my autobiography
January twenty-fourth, nineteen seventy nine
During a snowstorm, avalanche, otherwise nice time
They cut the lifeline
I must not be God's son because I cried
And every time they try to crucify me I survive
And everything I do's infectious
Despite the use of several contraceptives
White blood cell immune systems of humans prove useless
Slip under microscope detection
And x-ray testing
I am hip-hop, rock, intelligent
Since you like to categorize music
I make a difference while they make lists
Everybody's favorite top one hundred slit wrists
The artists' pick
Classic edition DVD double-disc
My paragraphs surpass cash rap
Beyond white and black
Higher than the sky reaches
Deeper than an acid trip thesis
I'm an egg, hard-boiled
So I don't need my shell
Because it's merely cosmetic
And I'm not show-and-tell
I'm a real-life emcee, nasty as hell
Because I'm not scared to work and I'm not scared to fail
So spare all the talk about principals
When decibels are raised to raise capital
And few artists are actually factual
I'll tell them straight out, I'm South Jersey
Most of the country can relate to me
Which fills a great vacancy of young Americans that basically
Have no identities
Because anything less than success by financial stability
Means you spent your life on someone else's dreams
And everybody knows what that means
Mass suicide of senior citizens
Who want to do it all again and talk about how they'd do it differently
I'm taking rap to my new place, who's coming with me?
Off Topic's autoautopsy file
Cause of death classified
Still holding the pill bottle
Chemical levels don't match the lab tests
So I had to grab the scalpel and cut my own chest
Off Topic's autoautopsy file
Cause of death classified
Still holding the pill bottle
I don't know what y'all heard about my death
But I'm holding the hour glass up like, "Who's next?"
Yo, I'm two thousand levels above these rap thugs
Who claim they're street tough
But shake they xxx like a lightning bug
And blew up
Like a plastic rap explosive
Pick your money up, front
You can't rhyme on my cut
I'm changing rappers' perspectives
With E-D-Kollective
And a crew of emcees that rhyme better than ya
I've had enough negative flows that everybody knows
Every word but they're written by a three-year-old
I Bic 'em with a pen, not a razor
'Cause I'd rather deface paper
Than face allegations and surrender
But my rights are under attack from The Right
Who think they're right, so I gotta watch what I write
Yeah right, I'm taking life
'Til there's only one left
Catch my breathe, it infects the immune
Coming soon to a town near you
I peak the interest of a special interest group
They talk so holy, but all they want is recruits
It's so phony, like the fancy suits
I see through the polyester image and expose the Swastika tattoos
And constitutional re-writes that we fight and lose
That's why I do what I do
I can expose the truth and mass-broadcast my views to the youth
I'm Off Topic 'cause I'm steadily fresh
I'm a blade of grass, watch me get cut at the chest
And grow back smarter than the key to the test
Stronger than emotions clouding me and got me depressed