MaCRonI
12-10-07, 09:55 PM
Opening
(Let’s see if I can get this song done yo!!!!)
I spend my lifetime in between the paper’s lines
Place my mind in paper’s divides from soul to shine
(Naw, this aint raw!!!!)
My dreams flake off the top of pens surface
to cake the paper and define my soul’s purpose…….
(Naw that’s not even raw yo!!!!!)
My flow does paper greasy like it was written in oil pastel
The makes the page bubble and swells, as my words compel
(No!!!!)
When my pens the diving board, into paper’s depth’s I’m lost
My thoughts roots themselves into it, the top begins to slosh
Swish as the roots spread further, making its inside lurch
Unearthin it, unmerging it……..
(Man, I’m burnt yo….my rhymes aint dope yo.
This is still wack yo!!!!
....I can’t be.......no.....
....Or....
....
I mean I’m still the dopest of mceezs right?
There aint none better..Or are there?
Am I seriously falling off?)
(fades into mumbles…….)
Intro
A piece of a tree’s heart left abandoned/
Stranded from its veins, its roots parched in famine/
Of nourishing thought to Dampen its surface/
Dried by its unquenched thirst for purpose/
Whitened because it was starved of mind/
The stillness wrinkling it with blue lines/
my desktop a death bed for its parting/
My hand holds the key to stop its departing/
Verse 1
Mirages of rhymes arise on the flesh of the paper’s chest/
ideas coming less and less, its surface dried until its lifeless/
My hand coated epideremis breast plate, arm brace/
my exact bodies shape, grippin a halberd which encase/
the poems my emotions creates, waitin to eject arsenic/
On parchments, Unsheathe the plastic scabbath as im chargin/
Forward, my cuticles burn to friction, i go for fierce stabbings/
But they missin, I'm slashing to where the paper has gaps in/
but it stood unaffected, detectin each arsenal my mind erected/
Picked at my technique like the inners organs during a frog dissection/
Entirely unfazed, my bushidu moves barely leave punctures/
Its writer block armor spray sedatives, my power to slumber/
My thought’s unraveling, armada of concepts stabbings, all parried/
And counterattack my ego, making me think my skills are sorry/
blows I thought fatal were unable to leave more than flesh wounds/
the grim eraser reaper takes the dearly departed to an early tomb/
Hook(1x)
A lifeless loose leaf gasping for life
I wield duel surgical tools to resuscitate it
Faint Traces of a Pulse arise as I write
My ink scalpel feeding it words, doubting it can make it
Caressing it with my thought to help it fight
For breathe, wonder if my skills are too limited to save it
Reaching into myself to bring hope back to its sight
Can I Free my dreams from fear’s desperate cling?
Shed their cocoons to arise
I Give my deepest dreams wings
Metamorphosize them into butterflies
Plant the seeds of my very being
Fluttering towards where my future lies
Into History Books of a genre long Forsaken
See through the Shadows of Doubt
To Rediscover the Scared Art of Writing
So Hip Hop will Reawaken In me
Verse 2
Decimated thoughts lay on the page as eraser shavings/
Vast scrappings displaying the toll my inability is taking/
My imagination’s creations are nappy rooted, hard to unleash/
I pull them to my parched lips, but my pen tip and them never meet/
Their Shackled at the feet by the poison ivy vines of My Brain Stem/
Turnin my spits to convicts handcuffed by chains of Phlegm/
Nervousness making it painful to move my finger joints like gout/
I strain to find a well of inspiration, but only tap into doubt/
My finger cuticles in pain, my eyes glow red like the siths/
Hours of creating leave my paper covered with lead chips/
My pencil made headless whenever I go for a cobra strike/
The target falls out of site, Snapping off chunks of graphite/
I poke at it only to see my weapon’s edge crumble like roman ruins/
The more energy I pour into this, the more confidence I’m losin/
Its getting tedious, Balled up paper burying where my dream is/
My sentence ingredients never seem to mix homogenous/
Doubt’s talons have picked at what I thought to be my talent/
So much of it gone, I wonder if I ever really had it/
Interlude
(I guess i was never that dope at all?
Maybe i was wack the whole time?
And i had only been thinking i was dope?
I guess...I better hang this up?
How could I fall of so hard?}
Verse 3
In the wake of oblivion, The Spirit Of my Inner Artist has gasped/
It’s last breathe, my confidence worst fear has come to pass/
My mind spiraling out of control, wondering how this could happen/
My talent is cremated to paper balls, Entombed In trashes bags/
the ashes of my rhymebook given to garbage collectors to have/
into an urn of a landfill deposits, I feel a void deep in my subconscious/
I’m a living carcass without a soul, an outcast hauntin the realm of flesh/
But as I try to go to an abysmal low, something’s stopping me/
With nothing more to lean on, a light is sparks within me/
…..
……..
…..Something hatches within me……
……It’s radiates a bright light….
….It’s aluminating, filling the void inside me……
…..growing more brilliant,…..
……Making me feel wholesome..….
……As let go of my sealing of fearful feeling……
…The vines binding my mind whittle and die…
….Unchaining my creativity from its shackles….
….Remove the handcuffs from my imagination….
..my ears can hear the beat in my mind again…
….My heart pulses to the drums every tick…..
…My tongue is saturated with rhymes…
…..Covering its taste buds….
….The Spirit of An Artist fill me once more….
..My pen is once again ready to create raw..
……As I Write……
…..My Dreams come to life…..
……..
…
My pen glows like Hercules’ outline as it draws rollercoaster corkscrews/
That breaks through the page’s defenses where my flows fuse/
pumping life into the paper, having seizures as my pen alters its texture/
My potential unmeasured, my thoughts come together like cursive letters/
The starvation dried surface of the page is mended by works I carpet/
each parched gap is stitch together until its combined like nose cartilage/
My words stick together like chemicals in Spider-Man’s Web Cartridge/
Form Sentences that overcrowd the lines and push against the margin/
I singe the paper until its turquoise lines turn to bubblin zigzags/
The paper and me merged into ecstasy like the close contact of gonads/
my soul gets deep into it like crustacean stationed at the ocean’s bed/
Cuz my doubts disappeared like sweat on Ghost Rider’s forehead/
Hook (1x)
...
………………….
…..
Open its Eyelids, take a deep breathe
Reawaken the skill I thought had left
Reawaken the confidence of my inner Artist
Free it from the emptiness doubt and darkness
It’s a beacon of light dimmed
By the confusion you feel within
Ignore what others Say About Your Ability
Never doubt what you put in your rhymebook
The talent never left, it’s inside you
You just had to realize it
........
....
..
(Fades)
(Let’s see if I can get this song done yo!!!!)
I spend my lifetime in between the paper’s lines
Place my mind in paper’s divides from soul to shine
(Naw, this aint raw!!!!)
My dreams flake off the top of pens surface
to cake the paper and define my soul’s purpose…….
(Naw that’s not even raw yo!!!!!)
My flow does paper greasy like it was written in oil pastel
The makes the page bubble and swells, as my words compel
(No!!!!)
When my pens the diving board, into paper’s depth’s I’m lost
My thoughts roots themselves into it, the top begins to slosh
Swish as the roots spread further, making its inside lurch
Unearthin it, unmerging it……..
(Man, I’m burnt yo….my rhymes aint dope yo.
This is still wack yo!!!!
....I can’t be.......no.....
....Or....
....
I mean I’m still the dopest of mceezs right?
There aint none better..Or are there?
Am I seriously falling off?)
(fades into mumbles…….)
Intro
A piece of a tree’s heart left abandoned/
Stranded from its veins, its roots parched in famine/
Of nourishing thought to Dampen its surface/
Dried by its unquenched thirst for purpose/
Whitened because it was starved of mind/
The stillness wrinkling it with blue lines/
my desktop a death bed for its parting/
My hand holds the key to stop its departing/
Verse 1
Mirages of rhymes arise on the flesh of the paper’s chest/
ideas coming less and less, its surface dried until its lifeless/
My hand coated epideremis breast plate, arm brace/
my exact bodies shape, grippin a halberd which encase/
the poems my emotions creates, waitin to eject arsenic/
On parchments, Unsheathe the plastic scabbath as im chargin/
Forward, my cuticles burn to friction, i go for fierce stabbings/
But they missin, I'm slashing to where the paper has gaps in/
but it stood unaffected, detectin each arsenal my mind erected/
Picked at my technique like the inners organs during a frog dissection/
Entirely unfazed, my bushidu moves barely leave punctures/
Its writer block armor spray sedatives, my power to slumber/
My thought’s unraveling, armada of concepts stabbings, all parried/
And counterattack my ego, making me think my skills are sorry/
blows I thought fatal were unable to leave more than flesh wounds/
the grim eraser reaper takes the dearly departed to an early tomb/
Hook(1x)
A lifeless loose leaf gasping for life
I wield duel surgical tools to resuscitate it
Faint Traces of a Pulse arise as I write
My ink scalpel feeding it words, doubting it can make it
Caressing it with my thought to help it fight
For breathe, wonder if my skills are too limited to save it
Reaching into myself to bring hope back to its sight
Can I Free my dreams from fear’s desperate cling?
Shed their cocoons to arise
I Give my deepest dreams wings
Metamorphosize them into butterflies
Plant the seeds of my very being
Fluttering towards where my future lies
Into History Books of a genre long Forsaken
See through the Shadows of Doubt
To Rediscover the Scared Art of Writing
So Hip Hop will Reawaken In me
Verse 2
Decimated thoughts lay on the page as eraser shavings/
Vast scrappings displaying the toll my inability is taking/
My imagination’s creations are nappy rooted, hard to unleash/
I pull them to my parched lips, but my pen tip and them never meet/
Their Shackled at the feet by the poison ivy vines of My Brain Stem/
Turnin my spits to convicts handcuffed by chains of Phlegm/
Nervousness making it painful to move my finger joints like gout/
I strain to find a well of inspiration, but only tap into doubt/
My finger cuticles in pain, my eyes glow red like the siths/
Hours of creating leave my paper covered with lead chips/
My pencil made headless whenever I go for a cobra strike/
The target falls out of site, Snapping off chunks of graphite/
I poke at it only to see my weapon’s edge crumble like roman ruins/
The more energy I pour into this, the more confidence I’m losin/
Its getting tedious, Balled up paper burying where my dream is/
My sentence ingredients never seem to mix homogenous/
Doubt’s talons have picked at what I thought to be my talent/
So much of it gone, I wonder if I ever really had it/
Interlude
(I guess i was never that dope at all?
Maybe i was wack the whole time?
And i had only been thinking i was dope?
I guess...I better hang this up?
How could I fall of so hard?}
Verse 3
In the wake of oblivion, The Spirit Of my Inner Artist has gasped/
It’s last breathe, my confidence worst fear has come to pass/
My mind spiraling out of control, wondering how this could happen/
My talent is cremated to paper balls, Entombed In trashes bags/
the ashes of my rhymebook given to garbage collectors to have/
into an urn of a landfill deposits, I feel a void deep in my subconscious/
I’m a living carcass without a soul, an outcast hauntin the realm of flesh/
But as I try to go to an abysmal low, something’s stopping me/
With nothing more to lean on, a light is sparks within me/
…..
……..
…..Something hatches within me……
……It’s radiates a bright light….
….It’s aluminating, filling the void inside me……
…..growing more brilliant,…..
……Making me feel wholesome..….
……As let go of my sealing of fearful feeling……
…The vines binding my mind whittle and die…
….Unchaining my creativity from its shackles….
….Remove the handcuffs from my imagination….
..my ears can hear the beat in my mind again…
….My heart pulses to the drums every tick…..
…My tongue is saturated with rhymes…
…..Covering its taste buds….
….The Spirit of An Artist fill me once more….
..My pen is once again ready to create raw..
……As I Write……
…..My Dreams come to life…..
……..
…
My pen glows like Hercules’ outline as it draws rollercoaster corkscrews/
That breaks through the page’s defenses where my flows fuse/
pumping life into the paper, having seizures as my pen alters its texture/
My potential unmeasured, my thoughts come together like cursive letters/
The starvation dried surface of the page is mended by works I carpet/
each parched gap is stitch together until its combined like nose cartilage/
My words stick together like chemicals in Spider-Man’s Web Cartridge/
Form Sentences that overcrowd the lines and push against the margin/
I singe the paper until its turquoise lines turn to bubblin zigzags/
The paper and me merged into ecstasy like the close contact of gonads/
my soul gets deep into it like crustacean stationed at the ocean’s bed/
Cuz my doubts disappeared like sweat on Ghost Rider’s forehead/
Hook (1x)
...
………………….
…..
Open its Eyelids, take a deep breathe
Reawaken the skill I thought had left
Reawaken the confidence of my inner Artist
Free it from the emptiness doubt and darkness
It’s a beacon of light dimmed
By the confusion you feel within
Ignore what others Say About Your Ability
Never doubt what you put in your rhymebook
The talent never left, it’s inside you
You just had to realize it
........
....
..
(Fades)