Skit

This slack-jaw mealy-mouth I mumble when I'm 'round the house I'm trying not to do no chores today Crying in my underwear I lost my sense of wonder there No, I'm not Milan Kundera Though this lightness is unbearable The feeling is indelible I'm wishing I could teleport somewhere Transmolecularize through the secular eye I remember when Vegeta stomped Bardock's neck in Two prayer hands to the heavens, good Lord, bless Him I was a broke slob watching Ghost Dog writing Post Hoc If I could muster just one good throat chop And honor my shidoshi, 'cause 'dim mak' means 'death touch' I been Spock, I been clutch In thin socks, I'm butthurt Impervious pervert with niggerish fervour Crashing Linux server Who didn't even change his laundry over Who needs to buy toilet paper Indie rapper, sorta faker 'Cuz I couldn't afford a mortgage or a Studebaker 'Cuz I couldn't afford a mortgage or a Studebaker

When you're deep in the raw Everybody wants to get a piece of your heart There's only so much truth you can keep in your bowl Speak your piece, but words are too harsh

Overspoke my piece I'm known in the streets When you're deep in the raw There's only so much truth you can keep in your jaw (So what you saying?) I can run the world from my mama's house I can run the world from my mama's house I can run the world from my mama's house I can run the world

Every song responds to a threat Every laundered dollar is wet But if a mom's like a song torn breath But as long as I can ponder the depth And the king sorta stinks of lunacy I roam the rinks in sync with the jinx that are having me sink the moon and the sea Bankers clink drinks as they uplink to the sphinx's coonery I'm on the brink, I could fill my sink with the king's jewelry Yeah, who is he? Driver—lion from a dead world Sole practitioner of his customs and know the RPM of your head twirl Driver old as fuck My daughter old enough to vote Rap songs blowing up on the coast Loyal subjects rolling up that smoke As I dictate terms from an ensnarled perch Yeah, and Leimert Park is Winterfell Rumors I learn to Splinter Cell and pitches sale from Mike's Citadel Exact an explicit Hell Empty the fire and sway My music on Pirate's Bay as my elusive alliances fray I collude with a silent clay and infuse a vibrant day With a soothing eye in decay—putting food on the dining tray Yeah, I can do this my way Welcome home