The Altar Edifice

Sick with Round Stic in my hand
Flic the Bic at my command
Lampin’ like General Electric
Illuminate the eccentric
Edison with authentic pen tip demented
Invention is 1 percentage inspiration
The mental of the method, 99 percent perspiration
That’s the will to amend it.
Don’t know one-millionth of one portion of the full extent of my tongue
Tungsten to feel a mental appendage
To travel through timespace and bend it
Unravel the filament, unreal and unreeling
Electrifying the illest shit
Enlightening the good will in it
To strike stifling and militant
And deny darkness it’s due diligence
The skill make critical strikes killers crit
Technophiles with the realest spit
Method, styles, surrealists be feeling it
Set then cryogenically sealing it
Frozen files revealing it
To the masses vast passages appealing
Fast, facists concealing it
Put it on blast like a grenade on the palisade
Of your phallus praise, out of phase
My vocab will raise out of graves
The deep shit that’s been deep sixed
By autotune weak shit cuz it pays
To make displays of ways to conform
To the form of another brother
Skin born just to flip the color
Rippin’ duller than the airport in D.C.
The dullest, they should cull it from me see
Call me Micheal with a bullet, beastly
Peace G, I’m out like Randy Johnson mullets
Please plead, or press your luck, Whammy
Cuz I’m about to blow up like a ventilator skyward
Mutilator, my word is quixotic
So come on Sancho Panza, it’s about to get chaotic
They neurotic, spitting despotic verse
Psychotic pill-poppers who think they’re sick
I’m a melodic mill chopper with a sword more vicious than SIDS
So on it, proper, phonograph popper
The more judicious call me Alva
Flip a lightswitch, that’s my edifice
Thomas Edison on the credits of the album