[Verse 1: Acumental]
I'm the antonym and opposite of happily incompetent
Without a hint of passive, only masterful predominance
Never somnolent or inactive I stay on top of shit
This rapper from Chicago's quick to tamper with your documents
CIA Operative clocking into work
I drop it on the proper tip
Now get your chompers on the curb
So I can stomp 'em in
Yea that's what happens when you trash talk
I smash y'all, leavin' teeth scattered on the asphalt
You're hesitating sheepishly
I recently received a call to renovate the scene
That y'all been desecrating heedlessly
The message had a special way of reaching me
Like Dennis Quaid in Frequency
A featherweight defenestrating weak emcees
Can't stop the flow
Run taps on your phone
I scam blocks for dough like Alphonse Capone
It's the fatuous hooligan
Actin' a fool with it
Leave a young blood layin' on his back in a pool of it
Ac is a lunatic
I prove it on the regular
Maneuver through communities
Stupefy the neighborhood
Yea I'm Daryl Dixon with the arrow bitch
A parasitic pharaoh spittin' diction
More sadistic than Deniro flicks
No mountain high, no valley low, no river wide enough hold me down
My inner child's been actin' grown
We come together single file on Abbey road
And pack a flow determined to redefine the status quo
[Verse 2: Terminal Knowledge]
Get a clue
Try to speak a little truth
But watch out
Don't leave the scouts and the audience in disrepute
I'm tired of bein' misconstrued
And hiding in a pigeon coop
Being listened to and admired by bewildered youths
A tilted axis keeps the planet spinnin'
Either that or it's the skillful tactics of a black magician
Smile for the cameras
Your society is cancer ridden
Pathogenic
Uncle Sam's devising him a cataclysm
Hypothetic atom splittin's had us in Iraq about a decade
And a few good men get paid for their bad decisions
Got a scab?
Then picket
I down a can of spinach
Shout
"The government should tax the one percent!"
Like that'll fix it
I had a wish of rags to riches
But shit, any mathematician should be doubtful of the facts they're given
Now would I rather have the knowledge and the gathered wisdom
Or cash my chips in hollowed by a lavish living
The latter's tempting but the former seems to fit me
A loitering gypsy with a thrift store wardrobe
We all have our limits
But it's 'bout time I ignore the poor folk and dig for more gold
Born to be bad
The anti-Christian choir boy
And all that I ask is that I pass it to my pride and joy
You're so unattached
Get at me when you find your voice
And I know how to rap
So that shit is beside the point