I've been busy I've been busy rebuilding swashbuckling archeologists as Antarctic grave robbers I've been busy back peddling and back washing the gray water like I think I'm an acclaimed doctor I've been busy With the paroxysms now melted down to coping skills Meaning I make mountain out of mole hill In the south where the souls thrilled Turn a roll call to a road kill as a dope till For my next trick, hallucinatory cloud computing without the crowd rooting It's, non-refundable in Oakland Non-fungible token in ovum of Lady Liberty when crackhead denim replaces time as an infinity's metric I'm finna be wreckless Imma set the mood proper Shift the food down or This women's decrepitudes bothered All the things I left America to forget Where my heart and mind didn't do And art declined recurrent party lines With the anchor of skin Emotional tolerance and resilience of the young is cut paper thin But don't weigh me in With the flat of the blade and the butt of the gun to the gut of the son like Oh fuck she didn't know I type dead center maintaining them high standards Oh God a detaching economy Had had a full meta my menace white Flashes in the ribs And they burble and they cringe At the carols for the mega shifts of self-centeredness Sysiphusian since I can't conform within the crypt See them niggas' plugs of remembrance So bitter enemies are clubbing with a clever mix Well then it was fun to think We, the Grand Jeweler of the ex slaves overcame the truth of being hunted By the Klu Klux through the hedge maze Dead bodies and lost property But a sex-crazed frontiers been another dear friend As the techs play x-rated cinema At the thunderous pools I could turn blubber to fuel with indigenous whalers Hide in a chrysalis from shiftless janitors At least they trust my performance count Before I'm straight Elizabeth Taylor And it's likened To despise when The elders connect In elsewhere And elsewhen But I spin trellis So our motives know I'm spittin from the sunken relics like Ay help them... Help them All the things I left America to forget Where my heart and mind didn't do And art declined recurrent party lines With the anchor of skin Emotional tolerance and resilience of the young is cut paper thin But don't weigh me in With the flat of the blade and the butt of the gun to the gut of the son like