FrameWork

AYo Ima...
Touch you with flow like a gust of wind/
Wrap round’ ya bones, feel me like flesh unda ya skin/
See writing is new to me, to be comfortable Im breakin it in/
Squeeze the heart of the game, to get the life pumpin again/
So never will I lose appetite for Hip Hop/
Stayin hungry to save a spot for food for thought/
To get more niggas up outta seats than Rosa Parks/
Shogun of the Dark…
And I Rockin rhythms like pendulums till the gasket pops/
And hit em with wisdom in small interims till the casket drops/
Cause aint got nothing but time on the hands/
And maybe a mic stand to spit on relevant demand/
Lyrically Ima stay crooked without help of kickstand/
Or hypeman Ima take you underground like quicksand/

You see in my camp we destroy and build/
Promptly dismantle decoys infiltratin the cannablistic guild/
See I Only got one shot in to blow, so one bullet in the chamber
If it hits ya after the DJ spins it you know I gotta banger/ (Get it? Hahaha)
And doppelgangers can document the lectures of professors/
But can’t stand to better the measures of the architecture/
Or the architect…/
Who never tries the pants fallin off another man/
Im the belt who holds up more than straps (guns) and brands/
Such a repertoire renders the appearance of Hip Hop loosely fitted/
So lemme smooth the ridges and tighten up the image/
Emcees droppin the ball frivolous to kids...
Bein foul on ya joints/
Cause till the ref calls it malicious, cats will mimic...
And no one will sound the point/
Lyricists in these times are in affliction...
they don’t write rhymes/
They steadily verbalize prescriptions...
And it must be morphine cause I aint feelin it/