I am a product of artistic inspiration/ My words are spoken only in an attempt to form a lyrical condemnation/ Of today’s intoxication with sedation/ The threat of wax evasion, since the day they killed the crowd participation/ It’s been only precipitation chasing rain clouds on the never ending/ To prevent the lending of the negative auras that they’re sending Over those instrumentals, No incidentals gone about it…/ That element will keep your mind shrouded with the doubted/ I’ve ranted and I’ve raved and I’ve shouted/ Wondering how’d it get so irreversibly rerouted/ Indelibly crowded. Incredibly clouded with the wackest that the wack have had to offer/ In fact, I take my hat off to Chaucer/ But, kids be poetically pathetic/ Claiming they’ve aided and abetted, now hip-hop is diabetic/ Who’s got the anthesthetic?/ Tone Deff be on it to get it monotone and synthetic- Nobody said it better/ Keeping the sugar embedded, Niggas are now indebted/ To the rhythm in the notion that hookers get wet and spread it/ Off is the way I set to the tune of how I bring it to your juncture/ (305) is coming through to puncture/ The status quo. I be the baddest bro to tap it slow/ I’m lost as far as mathematics go, but lyrics are the major/ ‘Cause it’s within my nature to debate and deviate ya’/ That’s unless you are your own, so, I’m a keep it Monotone. Chorus Exist to be free. Revise the Hip-Hop mentality- You must be stoppin’ the Monotony. It’s how it oughtta be, But all these wannabe’s that MC Continue droppin’ the Monotony. Commit to who ya’ be. To live for MC artistry- Tonedeff be stoppin’ the Monotony. It’s verbal sodomy, when all these wannabe’s that MC Continue droppin’ the Monotony V2 I be the M-O-N-O, the T-O-N-E/ The D-E to the double the F, I’m fresh when I free alphabetically/ I did it Steadily, yo, with my nigga Gilligan/ And then I slammed with Mister Logic, RBM be iller than/ A schizophrenic in the brain. We strained so hard to gain fame/ throughout our years of adolescence- To this day we learned our lessons/ But above it all, we learned that in the (305)/ True lyricists never say die… So keep it on. Chorus V3 This year I keep it monotonic/ One Vibe, One Love, One Drum- from analog to monophonic/ ‘Cause when I get on it, my monologue be monolithic/ Niggas claim that they’re gifted but they’re only monotypic/ Hip hop’s monopolistic. A&R’s are sadistic/ ‘Cause they’ve twisted heads to points where the market’s cannibalistic/ But, yo, I’ve come equipped with the shit that be automatic/ How can you be artistic when you be monochromatic?/ RBM be my hermanos, the name be monogrammatic/ When I become emphatic my words are monosyllabic/ Yo, we go mono a mono in the tragic state of static/ I’m mad ‘cause I’ve had it with all of the gats and ganja addicts/ My life’s melodramatic/ MC’s figure they’re hard And think that they’re monometallic, their minds are so simplistic/ They’re just a bunch of misfits claiming they’re monogamistic/ Yo, but I know, they’re suckers and they’re bound to catch mono./

V1 To the One, 1-2 ‘n. I can rock the Mic ‘n/ Keepin’ the rhythm excitin’ I enlighten mental titans with my writin’/ I heighten the expectations of the nations/ I’m not a Dil-though I give you crazy good vibrations/ To be or not to be was never the question you could ask me/ I passed the New School, so I be doing this shit, like, classy/ And Lastly, you know I have the rhythm and the rhyme/ And I you’re banking upon the Nickels, no, you’ll never waste a dime/ I base the lines upon the knowledge I’ve acquired through my years/ I never Shout my lyrics, ‘cause this isn’t the Tears For Fears/ So, here’s another demonstration, cause I know you probably know this-/ When I show this gift, nigga’s step like aerobics/ I hold this to be true, due to my many reasons/ I manage to deliver the tracks- in fact, in any season/ I be pleasin’ the art of rhyme and in return I’m keepin’ true ‘n/ Never doin’ the double-standardized lies kids be spewin’/ I bust a capillary when I want to bust it up/ Me they’ll never have to bury, ‘cause my crew I trust enough/ And If I muster up enough of the luster needed to endeavor Through the secondary Verse to quench your thirst, I keep it clever To the 1-2 ‘n. Chorus To the One, 1-2 ‘n (repeated 4X)/ Don’t you know it goes a-One, 1-2, the 3 to the 4 (repeated 2X)/ To the One, 1-2 ‘n (2X). It’s the Random Tandem. V2 To the One, 1-2 ‘n. I be the rhyme brewin’/ Smooth calculator, cause my number’s for renewin’/ Up inside the red zone, though I call a code blue, when/ competition (they) gets mad, I call them Alfred E. Neuman/ My system, it be boomin. Cause my ego lit the match ‘n/ I be the eagle- you’re the chicken cause I saw you hatchin’/ In fact, In a scene of action, you’re crazy wack ‘n it happened/ Just he way I say it would occur/ Were you amazed? Hopefully so, ya’ know?/ When I be doin’ that voodoo on you, dude, every poke’ll be slow/ That goes to totally show to whom the odds play the breaker…/ 5 to Zip against you, and guess who is the Oddsmaker/ It’s the Nickels to the fifth, not the second or the third/ It’s Got to be the most easy goin’ shit you’ve ever heard/ Because If my words mean tomorrow, tell Annie she can wait/ ‘Cause if the sun comes out today, I guess I’ll have to keep her late/ I play the flow procrastinator, ‘cause I’ll catch you later, thus/ Be the assassinator, like you know the terminator was/ It’s just one of another kind of manner/ That be keeping the rhyme styles fresh… I be the lyrical Arm & Hammer/ On the Jam I hand to you, and anyone in my presence-/ Infancy to elderly, or middle to the adolescents/ Be the one nobody knows, due to the fact they can’t relate/ But never be letting originality be raped. To the One, 1-2 ‘n.

He said, “I wanna be somebody.” He said, “I wanna be someone.” She said, “Hey, you know there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you… But I know there’s only so much time and inspiration that could be left in your lifetime and in the world. Cause you’ve got too many dreams. And I love you too much it seems to ever let you leave out of my reality”. He said, “Girl, I’ve never been the one to hold you down. There’s not enough of me to go around in the eyes of the discontent who’ve misconnected with intent. Who only wanna tie their ropes around my mind, and conform my time. Because there’s nothing left that they’ve known.” She said, “Hey, your blood is on your hands. With nothing in mine left to clean it off.” She said, “I’m tired of bringing it all when you’ve got none to bring.” I said, “I just wanna be something more than just a homecoming king.”

V1 I remember when life began, back on an outstretch of fears/ All the people I’ve known met and loved through my twenty-odd years/ The peers that put pressure; backstabbers and lesser types of human beings I was seeing/ I never thought I’d get old one day/ Or ever think that I would say, “Let the children play”/ But when the innocence is over, time will surely tell/ If love exists or the reality of living was just a spell/ Swell were the days of adolescence/ The time we spent together felt like only twenty seconds/ But, I never knew how personalities changed/ And learned that pain was just a way to know that things never stay the same/ I guess it’s hard to except the way life goes I figure that’s why they say Philosophy Heals the Soul. V2 Positive influences were difficult to receive/ So I separate different folks for different needs/ I wish I knew then What I know now/ So I could separate which friends were true and which were foul/ Too many people never knew me from the outside/ What made them think that they could know me from the inside?/ But there’s no doubt in my mind, that your mind is in time with mine/ A diamond’s life is eternal, together we philosophize for the soul. It’s life and pain. It’s love and abstraction. It’s beauty and hate. And vice-versa. V3 Minutes make memories, and you only live once/ So you’d best to make your memories before the days and months do/ I’ve made to many mistakes but were they worth the time it took to mend the effects in the end?/ Now I take life slow, so that I don’t make the same mistakes…/ Think careful and avoid the road of heartbreaks/ Cause those were tribulating times/ Rejected and neglected when I was wasn’t writing rhymes/ Too many judgments have been passed down/ From the days of straight A’s to when I was the class clown/ My first love in the summer of fantasy/ And seeing things that were too much for a man to see/ Being this figure so unsure I was glad to be/ But never let dark clouds ever badger me/ It’s so uncanny how the world wants to pass me by/ While I’m undermining all these things that make me wonder why/ I want to reverse time ‘n go live in the past/ And praying that this time just wouldn’t be like the last/ I always ask myself the same questions…/ Over and Over, I find myself guessin’/ But, the puzzle seems to double when the answer’s no/ I guess that’s why they say Philosophy Heals the Soul.

V1 It’s time for me to ride my invitation to the room/ A product of them baby-boomers, but I never believed in kids blowin’ up Into celebrities/ With no indemnities these cartoon characters makin’ tunes/ But you can’t pay no dues in wombs/ But In return, I burn my etching on the moon/ I learned my lesson on the loom, in essence, I will truly bloom/ I paint with all the colors of the wind like I was Judy Kuhn/ I tend to hit that booty soon, type of pum-pum I will consume/ When I’m bangin’, I’m goin’ ‘Boom-Boom-Boom’/ And brothers think I’m out there, Raining pain in your contained monsoon/ I’ll play your game like Final Doom. Where there’s no eNd take it to 64 levels of graphic planes/ And you can feel the texture mappin’ on your brain/ What’s next to happen doesn’t change-/ I resume, so don’t assume I flex to rappin’ just for cappin/ I’m laughin At these wannabe MC’s, desolated like dune/ My tracks are more anticipated than the month of June in public schoolrooms/ I’ve got that ‘Boom-Boom-Bap, Original Rap’/ I wanna track it back, so fuck the clappin’ gats and satin macks/ Cause I’ve got tons of backing that’s available to crack A stack/ of the wackest actors trying to rap- They’re gettin’ flat/ Like the bitches I used to Peep in 7th grade/ It’s 7 days till dawn, while RBM we breakin’ the norm to keep it on/ And even though I’m Monotone at certain points within my diction/ My depiction of reality is fixed within your vision ‘Cause you’re Fixed. Chorus: Creatively castrated. (Niggas be Fixed) Critically/Publicly overrated. (Niggas be Fixed) And, yo, Nothing’s innovated. (Niggas be Fixed) V2 So, Skiddly-Bebop, We-Rock, Scooby Doo/ Guess what, America? “We Love You”/ With a ‘Rock’ and a ‘Roll’, and there’s so much soul/ Yo, we’ll be rockin’ till we’re a hundred and one years old/ Now, I don’t mean to brag and yo, I don’t mean to boast/ But I’m the host with the most that rocks shows Coast to coast/ East-West meets best. (305) like, whatever, hops/ I format the rhythm to give you the whole big picture like its letterbox/ And, yo, it never stops. I’m that bunny energizing/ Purgatori’s under the pink, don’t play boy scouts when I’m exercising/ But, I digress. I press the bench for time, your dead-lines make me late/ Don’t stall to sell me a quarter pounder for $6.50, yo, cause that ain’t worth the wait/weight/ I’m wizzin’ on your click, and still you insist I’m on your dick/ You’re just a sparkle-puss, like David Copperfield’s hookers are Magic Tricks/ Imagine this… you’re smoking cannabis while I’m becoming the man at this/ Amateur panelist, plan to turn purple like an amethyst/ In a world with no Quartz/Courts, basketballs, laws, or gems/ To which it applies, the moment I visualize the bitter demise of them/ I hit ‘em when eyes are blind to minimalize their literal lies, and then/ I sit and I fiddle with the rhymes they’ve crafted and they get shafted in the end/ Ask the question- Who’s got the rhythm? I’m coming off like Janet’s panties/ Ever since 1814, and greatfully she don’t wear Grannies/ ‘Cause that’s deader than Jerry Garcia, but via his fans I need a fix/ To crack the heads of these self-pipe-tootin’, lyrical bitches sucking dicks. Your Fixed. Chorus V3 MC’s are fixed but never mended, they get blue in the face/ And that be, like, true in the case where there’s no space for Gravity/ ‘I Breathe Deep’, ‘cause the malady that salary’s the strategy/ Of the modern rap academy saddens me/ Studied the anatomy of musicality where Critics are the analogy observed/ Don’t give a shit about the Comp-U-Serve/ You virtually can’t escape the net reality casts/ Because my web be world wide… Better believe I got my sign-on your ass/ I be that Prodigy that raves On-lines of text in America/ I still refuse to be your fuckin’ cartoon character/ ‘Cause, babe, I keep it pure/ So, maybe if my death was premature, then, I’d be sure to win an award/ And you can quote that from the source, I criticize my critics…/ Shit, it must’ve broken down some doors, so now we minimize the limits/ That’s set inside us by the cynics; and those who wanna mimic this with tricks/ Get diminished down the River of Styx. Cause you’re fixed.

V1 Friday night, and yo, we just got paid/ We’re on our way to sight Miami, F-L-A nightlife to promenade/ It’s time to say exactly where to route the streets to scout freaks…/ The words that collectively come out each mouth be South Beach/ We seek to reach the sheets of Hotel suites that’s candy coated/ So, yo, if you’re bringing a van, you’d better believe it’s gonna get loaded/ To the full. Cause RBM is in effect to that extent/ We rent a hundred percent of the bitches at the age of consent/ (So here we go) We hit the spot about a quarter to twelve-/ It’s Tone, Logic, Opie 1, and G-I-double the L/ Craze is the definition of record spinnin’ precision/ Gettin’ chicks in position’s the mission of this expedition/ So, my vision is in focus on the dancefloor/ More ‘Get-It, Get It’- ‘Shake That Ass’- whores than you could ask for/ And as for Logic, there was some blonde bitch with some tits that looked atomic saying she want it-/ That calculated nigga’s counting on it/ Ope and Gill were scoopin’ bitches by the numbers/ So I began to wonder If I would pass to wax that ass before my slumber/ U under A full-over-Miami-moon/ But soon enough She simply hit me with a smile and said, “Hi, my name is Trixie.”/ She said she was a Gypsy, told me I was sexy/ Wanted to show me she could do origami with her pussy lips/ She tried to kiss me on the spot, I guess she deemed she felt the need/ I said, “I know you’re fast Trixie, but my name is not Speed.”/ She was barely 19, but, fuck, the bitch was lookin’ wicked/ With them type of D-S-L’s that screamed for you to put your dick inside her mouth/ She’d turn it out, I’m shoutin’ no doubt and no question/ When it comes to blows this girl would cave your fuckin’ chest in/ So, next in the mode of operations is to ditch/ With Trixie, Logic, Opie, Gill, and the Atomic Titty Bitch/ I flip the switch to open the trunk, so we can load the extra baggage/ Now it seems we’ve got more people than I think the van can manage/ So, yes, I begin to panic, And, man, I’m throwin fits/ And I’m just swerving, cause I can’t see past atomic bitch’s tits/ Now, ‘Ahh, Shit’, here come the pigs and they be burnin’ my tail/ They said, “Excuse me, Tone, we heard you had some herb to inhale…”/ I said, “I’m sorry, officer, I’m not that type of MC./ See, I embellish the status of my creativity/ (y) Bitches are my addiction when the rhythm can’t be/ But, I won’t tell no one you asked me if you let me go free.”/ He said, “Si”, which translated to our asses moving on to the part of the song that had us naked in the sauna at Motel Iguana/ Now, Opie’s bitch’s name was Shauna and Gill’s was Ivana/ And those two hookers was too live to be as nasty as they wanna/ Talkin’ ‘bout whips and hand-cuffs, claiming only when they’re battered and bruised they’ve had ‘nuff/ Now, that’s ruff and tumble shit I’m not equipped to handle/ If she wants to be a masochist, then that’s a bitch I can’t get with/ They said, “Chill.” Took off the panties, spread legs they flexed/ Certain proceeds of the paychecks went towards latex for safe sex/ It’s time to get my face wet, the pussy taste test/ Trixie tells me my Dick tastes best while I remove the bitch’s playtex/ The sexual Apex. This scene resembles an X-rated playset/ Swinging upon the dicks they park on, So, now the place gets/ Hotter than steam boats. Pull out the willie in a hurry/ She said, “Damn, you’re dick is bigger than them words from Keith Murray”/ ‘Yo, it bee’s like that sometimes’, stinging that ass with fury/ Don’t wear no yellow jacket, still Georgia Tech hoes prefer me/ ‘Cause you can’t lose with this big Johnson, it’s a casino up in here/ Because it’s Licker up front and Poker in the rear/ I strip and lose the T-Shirt. We flirt with penetration for a second/ I tickled the clit, ‘cause I figured the bitch would now resort to beggin’/ I’m slippin’ the dick in with that special move for wreckin’/ Checkin’ the fucks like hockey pucks and ass attackin’ like it’s Tekken 2/ I betcha guessin’ who would ever have a night (Such as)/ The one I’m talkin’ about, where me and the crew be gettin’ (Much ass)/ Not poppin’ trash, but, yo, Any dirt could happen/ So, uh, Just gimme a second so I can keep that ass splackin. V2 So, anyways, as I was saying, yo, the fuckfest proceeds/ Four kids be fixed in friction, four hookers be on their knees/ Like in one way or the other, either, they’re lickin’ cocks or gettin rocked/ Just when you thought 8 was enough- well it’s not/ (Knock, Knock) who’s at the door?/ I be trippin over them hookers on the floor Tryin’ to get my pants on/ Hey, yo, it’s 3:34 in the morning, time’s passed on/ Yo, it was Mannyphesto and DJ Craze with their grasps on/ 2 other Rave bitches that I didn’t recognize/ Sized ‘em up enough to give the ‘Go Head’, so they could dive/ Into the Live wire strip twister match we had going…/ Tits and Ass showin’, everybody hoeing’ in the place/ No space, it was a blatant exhibition/ Face fishin’ between the hips till we create the next position in the Kama Sutra/ We shoot to make the text revisions/ ‘Sutra’ comma; Makin’ ‘em scream for preposition repetitions/ No matter how cute you are, you’re probably a future star for Porno/ Rubbing my dick in the car, so, yo, quit trying to act so formal/ Her sexual appetite’s beyond abnormal, so you know that when the morn’ breaks/ She want’s to eat another bowl of Porn Flakes/ But, there’s a double meaning to the term/ Second being a ditsy-bitch that keeps it creamin’ on a firm cock/ And she can burn spots and light ‘em up; she never minds a fuck/ She’ll even make a frigid nigga turn hot to ride him up/ But, right now, I’m tryin’ to suck this hoochie’s coochie/ While fuckin’ the brains out this bitch that’s workin’ my dick, and I’m hearing “SWITCH!”/ It’s a house party, baby, kids be glued to the couch/ The time has cum for niggas to do the same and ‘Spoochindamouth’!/ So, yo, we’re bustin’ nuts, and us- we aim at the chin/ And I lost it when Logic said to his bitch, “Yo, what’s your name again?”/ Gilligan, Opie, Craze, and Mannyphesto did the same/ But, before I had the chance to change, Yo, I noticed something strange./ There was something about Trixie that really bothered me/ A big ole’ fuckin’ grin on her face like she just won the lottery/ When I figured she oughtta be brushing her teeth or finding her bra…/ But, Yo, my eyes were in awe when she bust out the chainsaw/ My brain stalled for a second I hopped back with no hesitation/ I caught the relation of this hooker’s saw and mutilation/ The closer she came, the more we shouted/ She said, “Motherfuckers, you’re ‘bout to suffer the same fame as John Bobbit!”/ Suddenly, the cameramen jumped out the closet/ And that tig-ole’ bitty bitch’s tits turned out to be atomic/ And them Shauna and Ivana girls were totally robotic/ And them 2 rave bitches-well, they were knotted from the jump./ (But, Anyhow) This Trixie bitch was wiggin’ on me, on the spot/ She said, “It’s men like you who turn us women into sexpots/ And meat- pieces objectified. I’m here to rectify the stain!”/ Then the girl took off her face and, goddamn, “It’s Chasey Lain”/ Then they all took off their masks and what a change if I’ve ever seen/ To Sunset hookers, actresses, and Supermodel Beauty Queens/ I wonder what this truly means… It’s all a scheme to make me pay/ For being a Dog, yo, fuck this, move out bitch get outta my way—” (Chainsaw ensues)

Ayo it's automatic, systematic, world control/ Magnetic, genetic, synthetic/ We keep it energetic, all the while innovative/ Totally invigorated/ We made it not to break it, but to take it to take it to a whole ‘nother type of plateau/ Rockin’ rhymes on the regular-FLOW/ Liquefied within the manner/ The kinda stamina to land expand a panorama/ I stretch and swell and always making sure my best is well initiated/ You’re jaded and you’re over stimulated/ Which indicates I’ve been exonerated, vindicated/ From this Amalgamated rhythmic trip through 21st century technology/ Colliding with Hop-Hop philosophy with absolutely no apologies/ I constantly keep it scholarly, so I suggest you follow me/ Or get caught up in the wake of change/ Because, I’ll take the strange and rearrange it/ And still maintain the same flavors it came with, to get your brains lit/ So please don’t memorize the same script/ And figure it’s phat just because it changed lips/ Your ending up with sprained wrists from holding the microphone the wrong way/ Burn 20 matchboxes on a long day/ So let the song play, and then you’ll begin to understand/ The anti-mathematical stand of machine versus man/ The grand Musical synthesis, and I’ve been into this forever/ But figured the time was now right to pull the lever/ I’m keeping it together. Synthetic. I go the world over, but never hold it on my shoulder/ In fact, the world collapses when I drop it/ But I never let go of the way I knock a topic/ Cuz Title wise, your miniscule and microscopic/ If you need the juice, then I’mo block the socket/ With enough to knock Anna right out the tropics/ I plot this with a masterful touch/ I want the world but never ask you for much/ I got a crutch- you play lyrical double dutch and hop scotch/ The process is top notch in all parameters damage ya’ while you watch/ Lines thicker than ink spots could ever blotch/ On the dot, time is irrelevant to me like an elephant memory/ I hold a grudge and then you’ll see that if you try to make a smudge/ I’ll leave a mark that won’t budge/ I’m indelible within a credible performance/ Permanently totaled when my point’s enormous and you’re scoreless/ And you’ve been waiting for this/ No bull like zodiacs without the Taurus/ Year-round, cutting pricks off like a florist/ When ya suck, you’re bound to leech men like Chloris/ And Grant you unemployed like I’m Horace/ Magically rebound the chorus. Synthetic. V3 Just don’t gimme no plaudible excuse, like/ You never had the chance to be produced right/ Then, like, it suits ya right, to bend like a two-striped twine/ You see, when I combine lyrical splines on the rhyme/ I create a curved surface/ With sounds utilized for any obscure purpose/ I resign from any act of your circus/ I juggle the line schemes cause I’m keen to all assumptions/ Devoid of all repetitive functions of mass productions/ And power luncheons, we’re underground and scour dungeons/ The undulations manifestations and correlations/ Can all be traced through my patience, preparations and well constrained placement/ I got the Tone Control, ain’t nobody own my soul/ Using the mic to hone my goal of dominance through creativity and air-tight flows/ I like my sample rate low/ A DJ’s sixth wish is he could mix this on radio shows/ The first five went to weed, chicks, and dough/ Lots of vinyl and a chance to go pro/ But not every wish is granted- So/ A 3/3 Time signature won’t go right/ Or flicker to time just like a strobe light/ But guaranteed to pick up a slow night/ And toss it to the wind/ Competition’s light as a rock. I spread that ass paper thin/ Cause MC’s I never take lightly, like perjury/ I’ll steal your mind, internal burglary/ I’m sure you’ve heard of me/ Keeping their young minds open like infant skull surgery.