Just my thoughts
It’s not Heavy Mental, but it’s just my thoughts
When I’m writing in my room, it’s like a child that’s fighting in the womb
Not guarded like a mother and
The rhyme is the publishing
But I don’t want it to come too soon
‘cause if the rhyme is premature, that means it’s not pure
The mind is my screen, the footage scenes are raw
The film inspired by the fiends that lean in my hall and killers and thieves who schemed on my flaw
So when I write a rhyme, it seems like I withdraw
‘cause it took a lot of time to find a means for our cure
So I do this rhyme like I was operating
Deliver the right flow took lots of patience
I would head underground and lock my basement
And I suffered [?] while y’all waiting
Now before I begin, first I sterilize every one of my pens
Slide in the CDs of instrumentals and blends
‘cause the pencil’s my syringe
Then I throw on surgical gloves before I write my rhyme
It’s open book surgery when I slice the line
Every stroke, I leave scars
But when it’s spoke, they’re called bars
And what I wrote, it’s for god
And not only smoke to get charged
Now I’m cinematic with graphics
The pen that I craft with is the lens to a camera that the photographer snapped with
Writing rhymes the way pictures are developed
The rhyme has no color ’til I kick it a cappella
Process the rhymes in a dark room, it’s where I edit it
But in my film, I keep the negatives
‘cause it has the gems and all the messages
Step two: put the flow under my mind’s faucet
And turn the rhyme into a portrait
I go there, redesign the orbit, my thoughts lit
Light up my skull like a jack-o-lantern
My eyes disappear then they flash a mansion
Priest the rap Samson
The black phantom of the Hip-Opera
I’m the stenographer philosopher, stigmata of Big Poppa
I’m the real King Solomon, y’all all my hologram
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
