Yo, the artists come and go, so does the show //
So does the doe, nothing lasts forever you know //
It’s all about the experience and what you take from it //
What you learn in the process, what you make of it //
Number two in the world, at the top of the summit //
I loved it, should have packed a parachute for the plummet //
Now I’m humping these klicks crawling through mud pits //
With guns and hundreds of clips on Uncle Sam’s budget //
A hundred rifles for self //
Handcuff Burt Reynolds to Jim Brown and escape with Rachel Welch //
Isn’t my queen lovely? //
Feed her rum and raisin ice cream shower her with diamond rings and money //
Twenty three hours a day I study //
Dreaming about beautiful women, I hate you gay Teletubbies //
Dreams keep me alive, you can’t take them from me //
The battlefield is bloody, mean and ugly //
My adrenaline rushes when the enemy rushes me //
Trying to bust me because I swore I’d defend my country //
If I could choose between being lucky and having money //
Nothing negative could ever touch me //
What must be is ultimately not up to me //
But I’ll sacrifice my life for yours if you trust me //
Pin my medals upon my chest //
So I can left, right, left into certain death //
God speed and God bless //
In the end I hope God is impressed if I’m put to rest //
I did what I came to do, no time left //
Say my name out of the blue because I rhyme the best //
Mic Club dot net see me live in the flesh //
You can come and download every rhyme that I spit //
You can pay homage to Rip for one dollar a clip //
None of those rhymes is on the album bitch //
It’s a storage facility where I keep my shit //
For the students in the class that want to peep my shit //
Break a bootlegger’s leg if he leaks my shit //
If you don’t want to sign in bitch, then eat my shit //
Drink my piss, you could never compete like this //
I’mma give you an example how deep I get //
Technology not available for purchase //
My brain collects, store and converts million bar verses //
At a standoff distance at a thousand feet //
I illuminate the target and pound him to sleep //
To within one micro inch if you’re out in the street //
I could close my ears and still move my mouth to the beat //
Dial up to your network and make your files delete //
Count to three, listen to your browser beep //
Too late, foot already stepped in the feces //
Doctor Norton’s too sick to help your PC’s //
Virtually I’ll make your virtual memory freeze //
With a weapon of mass destruction, WMD //
I’m a TMC, trouble to emcees //
Destroy colonies with UCAV’s //
I’ll send in no less than twenty A-Teams //
Wipe you out before I even get to the B’s //
With my transatmospheric space based mirrors //
Can you write that out without typographical error?
Dumb fucks, I’m the best ever, whatever //
Divide eighteen by six, you get the third letter //
From the lowest earth orbit up to the heavens //
I’ll bomb ya’ll with lyrics of flechettes and pellets forever //
As a spitter I’m still tougher than leather //
I had to go underground to get over the pressure //
Battle rap from the Renaissance, multi-megawatt //
Bury you underneath the bedrock on a bed of rocks //
I could never get bored //
I’ll write about Huxley versus Wilberforce, fuck writing a killer chorus //
The Copenhagen curriculum of metaphors //
Everything from Bob Marley to Tenor Saw //
To System of a Down song number fourteen //
I see aerials in the sky when I dream //
The end is near, I wish it would hurry up //
I feel nano-bacteria burning me up //
Before I explain in detail //
You should analyze the Mars’ mineral samples under my nails //
Sometimes I wonder whose listening //
The auditory Pavlovian conditioning is so sickening //
My adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thiamine //
Is what really what makes me rhyme supreme //
As soon as I hear the beat, bada-bing //
You’ve gotta think, ‘a hundred bars? Damn that’s a lot of ink” //
Eventually all of my albums will be out of print //
There will be a clone for every style I invent //
For every line I rhyme intense //
For all the time I spent, every word I spit since nine-six //
If you can input at a hundred, I can output way above it //
If we’re in public I’ll double it //
Put this on your study list and go study bitch //
Basically quoting Hammer, “You can’t touch this” //
I’m too assertive and alert //
For what it’s worth, my best piece of work is still yearning to be birthed //
Class dismissed //
Cenior Studies from Canibus //


Lyrics submitted by p609

Cenior Studies 02 song meanings
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