Throw out the magic basket full of wires and let them flail all on the ground.
Why do they love it so?
Hatched seeds of light supported by light seaward breezes,
And we see these orbs in a car chase of sorts,
Absorbs sweet Lorraine and her dolly on the front porch and it escorts them into
Deep, dark, space around Taurus,
And the Mormons can't explain the stars reflectin' in her corneas.
It makes they hearts beat hard against they corsets which
Bops they lockets up against they foreheads, and--
Who was it that sent this little girl's mind up into orbit?
She had to forfeit little dolly while in space so that she could touch the stars like torches.
Privately, we recorded her,
Intimately, yes! We courted her with
"Miss Cinnamon Tea, please rest your itty bitty palms in my
Incandescently glowing hands and infinitely,
We will explore your inquisitive tendencies;
The intrinsic and the explicit,
We won't inhibit any of your inquiry,
But first the fire must be met then quenched by you candidly and randomly venting any
Thoughts, memories, anything!
It's time for you to start channeling what you've been gathering!"
So we left gravity,
Instantly engulfing Lorraine in a shimmering cavity then,
Flattening like an elasticine band that stretches and contorts,
And then I'd widen like the space highway spiraling sideways, contract and dilate,
Then straighten up at 100 mph then fall on myself in layers like a thickened band of taffy,
Assuming every length and shape imaginable,
Then I catapulted Lorraine and her stuffed animal into still deeper space,
But fathoming what I had actually done and her pace increasing rapidly,
I shot out like a javelin after her screams,
First matching her speed, then surpassing her, hearing her laughter as I passed her,
But the web I spun had not strengthened yet,
And the momentum sent them stretching through my intentions, And I popped!
Plopped back down into her bedroom,
Are takin' their stations warned
The verbal intercourse and mind fornication
Is on, whine, design is tight,
Corn burn more than blunts
Or oil at midnight
The clock turns, as it often does
Fight it with all ya might scrub
Ya learn more if ya listen
Timing is more than tic-toc-tickin'
Rippin's a mission so come equipped
But not with remote clickin's or clips
In the nine
Ya chickens, you caint rhyme
And punks react violently
But bad men respond silently
Later hearing your gone, and the facts while sipping on cognac quitely
Commenting on society
Asking why fools even try it
When they're undeniably
I strech out and expand
In 3-D like
Galaxies establishing terrestrial contact, like
Roll up the windows, crank the heat, relax recline the seat,
And thank Lateef,
Take two and pass,
Give it a little gas and ask
"What's the riddle mean?"
G E=MC2 don't be sarcastic, my mind moves at the speed of light when blasted
Synchopated audiosyncratic madness
On the rabbit
Like I'm rabid, gigantic, teething wolverine
Armed with claws that bring murderous tragedies
To even human beings burdened with feelings of sadness
Ludicrous thang is I'm glad to be the baddest
Sittin' fattest after I'm finished lunchin', munchin' em
I'm slashin', attackin with rippin' action
In sound clashes
Bastard I'm the fastest
Like: western classics
BIG JAW, voice cuts like a saw
Sprinkling you like Magic
As the cataclysm hits
Vocabic havoc cracks
Your sternum, spine, and scapula
Propelling you backwards over the edge
Of the track
Now that we have made our way away from the sky apple,
You will notice from your new knowledge experience,
That the distance from the crust to the mantle to the core,
Is much greater than previous measurements,
And as lyricists in this time period we experiment with a myriad of new findings,
Different from the supposed truths,
The ample evidence we presented,
It complemented our argument that "everything is impermanent".
Not static or at settled standstill as the opposite element has suggested is legitimate,
And finally, as a reminder,
The precious metals and ores mined for early in the earth's surface sediment,
Cannot compare to the infinite introspective splendor,
Represented by the treasures indicative of our entrance into the earth's center,
Incentive isn't it?
Yes, yes, yes, YES, well, yes, yes, yes,
You're dealing with lyricists that's fresh, fresh, fresh,
You wan test surely ya jest, look, lets just get
One thing correct before ya step focus on breath, breath, breath,
Breath, breath, breath,
Select yet another set of styles? Yup, yup, yep,
Each one as hard as erections I got to flex, flex, flex,
For project protection I'm collecting text, techs, tex,
While you're caught up,
Thinking rap is just sex, sex, sex,
And more flesh, flesh, flesh,
Robbing your soul of its precious sensuousness
Most of these rappers are talking shit out of the side of they neck
What the heck?
It's more and more suckas gettin' signed for less, less, less, and less
And lesson 1: if aiming to impress, press, press,
You gotta do it yourself
Quiet as kept, kept, kept,
If my work is respected I collect checks, checks, checks,
They cain't all bounce and if they do I got an ounce at the rest
So I ain't stressin' off that bullshit.
'Cause I've walked on water weapons baby haven't you heard?
I've authored songs on different planes and left the boundaries blurred,
And I taught Neanderthal to use the rotary phone,
I kicked the devil in his neck without my rosary on.
And I checked out the vampire's nest
Sans garlic, dissed his harlots, then without the crucifix
Plunged the wooden stake deep inside his chest
Thrashing around in the bottom of his sarcophagus
Till the only thing left,
Were little scraps of nothingness
Those scattered all about infinity
All different shapes and sizes going wherever
But all of one entity
That I had brought together for my pleasure
Watch this now,
Your last dinner in my chamber where I tempered weapons rendered from a rusty Ford fender,
You get your steak and eggs,
Your Caesar vinaigrette,
Savor your cigarette,
'Cause I'ma tape your lips,
Become my marionette,
You curtsy, pirouette,
And when my blade caresses,
I scrape my bayonet,
You lose your favorite legs,
I love that fragrance,
Playful Pet! Yes I'm the patron saint of Dangerous,
You slaying La-Tyrx?
You're driving majorettes,
Over some acreage.
As you sit there pensively, tentatively fidgeting with creation
But you fuck 'round with this and you'll get aten.
You gettin laid to rest
Ain't slayin' Latyrx
You gettin laid to rest
Over the Sunset's edge
Lyrics submitted by Demau Senae
"Latyrx" as written by Lateef Daumont Josh Paul Davis
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
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