Born for This.

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ENxVE

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I'll frog splash into a tall glass of cabernet
See five stars and fall flat as the opposite of heavy-weight
And relegate the steps I missed to counterbalance gravity
With more immediate regret for trying hard to drown in it
Sounds as if my pigeon-toed predispose
Is a product of being told I'm a prodigal son
But not believing it much
Bleeding from fisticuff confrontation with concrete
Calmly cursing the name of God that I still oddly subscribe to
Go figure

With the excess of seven C-sections
To remove a premature child
From the womb
Too soon I stitch these notebooks and manic scratchings as proof
That I think, therefore your Cartesian suppositions of my 'am'
Aren't really that definitive
If this were a house of distorted mirrors, I'd look like DeNiro
Fostering egotistical moments of validation, but f*ck it
You looking at me, directing this mental traffic and asking
'Why this Gil Scott wannabe wanna be rapping?'
Well it's as simple as Coca-Cola's revenue generating pie charts
Generally beneficial with a tight arc like a good jump shot
And barring any assumption made about the fact that I spit paint thinner
I do fundamentally want to change the way this game is played
That haterade must taste like piss
You must be angry at your father for leaving when you were six
And on my six is the backstage with a bag of doobie snacks
Cause it took time to get to the bottom of this mystery
Why do people expect me to use the term swag excessively?
How does Kelly Ripa manage to stay on daytime television?
Would I be relevant trying to evoke the spirit of Emory Douglas?
Should I be offended that half of you stop listening when I close the rhyme scheme?

Let's keep it rhetorical, the Oracle warned me that you mortals 
Would chortle at my cordial invitation to stop and smell the rose
And if this prose is so ineffable as efforts would lead me to believe 
Then why my decibel levels taste so delectable on your palate?

This challenge is for anyone who still owns a palm pilot, dubs mixtapes on TDK cassettes
Or watches Nick-at-Nite, if you think I'm kicking it old school on some 3:16 shit
Grab whatever beer you're drinking, raise it up, and give me a 'Hell Yeah', hell yeah

This isn't party time music, I didn't ask you to dance, don't pop that molly
I'll ruin your high and laugh at your misery
And after all this disharmonious wordplay over Antitune's
I'm positive some of you will still be trying to label us
I'm a fucking curmudgeon, sorry, my soul is the oldest of all my brothers
By blood and through spirit, spearing these other suckas
We ushering eras where clout and cowardice disavow how about it you claim to be
I was born for this shit

 Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer