R.I.P.C.D.

[Verse 1: Erick the Architect] The rhyme is so raw, most these rappers need a seminar You copy the same schematics, you makin' the same songs You thought that you were the only, but understand it's the physical Artistry manifest, but no ideas original Our sickest creation, no need for further analysis Plus the beats bang, prestige givin' me calluses Even if it's assumed, provin' it all again Sellin' out all the shows, never sellin' out who I am Mild temper venter, chronic keep me casual Formally introduced to a journey into the natural The three, two zeros, then proceeded by one Laced like your woven tennis shoes before you go run Danger, danger, Will Robinson There's a crisis here Nappy ain't dirty, racist man, it's just a type of hair Nightmares have just begun, there's no enticin' him Limbs relaxed, but your music pop like a Vicodin [Chorus: Erick the Architect] RIP to the CD, can't even play my hits 'Cause new computers ship without the means to play the shit We love the boosted speed, we love the memory It got me feelin' like we're nothin' like we used to be RIP, to the CD, can't even play my hits 'Cause new computers ship without the means to play the shit We love the boosted speed, we love the memory It got me feelin' like we're nothin' like we used to be [Verse 2: Zombie Juice] Smoke, smoke, drip, sip, sip, sip Eyes closed like I missed this No forgiveness, just a sick bitch 'Cause I'm under destruction, what is this? Just a young nigga ready to get this If I fall on my face, you're my witness Feast on my blood when I leave this Dimension, I'm startin' to think that This world is lost like a sea ship Walkin' to Hell with the demons How can the heavens defeat them? Sometimes I just wanna leave 'em This feeling is somethin', I can't run I just wanna be where I came from I'm never gon' see where I came from Rest in peace to the game, son Brooklyn baby reborn Trippin' up, you lukewarm This is like a warnin', Flatbush swarmin', Nike shoes on Prove them critics wrong, gettin' cream, bitch, I love it And the fans hold us down, put nothin' above it [Chorus: Erick the Architect] RIP to the CD, can't even play my hits 'Cause new computers ship without the means to play the shit We love the boosted speed, we love the memory It got me feelin' like we're nothin' like we used to be RIP, to the CD, can't even play my hits 'Cause new computers ship without the means to play the shit We love the boosted speed, we love the memory It got me feelin' like we're nothin' like we used to be [Verse 3: Meechy Darko] The wickedest, man on fire, the new Richard Pryor The wicked lit, rubber on my dick 'Cause I don't want that Charlie Sheen shit Please don't say you're the highest until you met your highness I just want the head like ISIS Fuck her so precise, her pussy gushin' like a geyser I'm Michael Myers with these grip pliers, take off your eyelids I sit in silence, speak in tongues and burn Bibles So, open letter to all of my rivals: you will not vanquish my titles My semi-automatic will splatter a nigga like Jackson Pollock Deranged since birth, I was conceived in an insane asylum I solemnly swear this evenin' to refrain from the violence Young and wildin', psilocybin still my stylist LSD drops in my iris, tire mark, police sirens No guidance, the belly of the beast is where I reside in Grimy and vibrant like Busta Rhymes in the early '90s Click-boom, your head blew like you play for the Giants Lyrical tyrant the way I be rhymin' I deserve all of the Pulitzer prizes My pistol be hiding, I pull it, surprise 'em My voice can be hypnotizing Every verse I deliver be vivid and visually striking Been the highest since I arrived and the climate is rising It's 'bout to get violent, cover your eyes And take this lyrical dosage that Dr. Meechy Dark prescribed ya I slide inside her, I love her tight vagina, no E-Z Widers Back to the cypher, I got chronic to light up, pass me the lighter [Chorus: Erick the Architect] RIP to the CD, can't even play my hits 'Cause new computers ship without the means to play the shit We love the boosted speed, we love the memory It got me feelin' like we're nothin' like we used to be RIP, to the CD, can't even play my hits 'Cause new computers ship without the means to play the shit We love the boosted speed, we love the memory It got me feelin' like we're nothin' like we used to be