lyrics
My arm it hurts so much from the mic I carry even though its light weight, don’t listen to the whispers whatever problems we face I’m the arcane mage with the missiles that drain, hear their whimpers of pain complain I plan for what can happen not what shouldn’t, bent over in the opera house you aint got the blim blam, Mister Yo’s gotta brilliant mind like Kazan, the time traveling man Blendin Blandin one wish to be wasted body was unrecognizable like Jonas due to the radiation, check the retina, I come correct sir, the particle accelerator propels me forward faster than Dyspo through a wormhole the jester gestures I rip apart comets and harvest stardust on wings of wax and feathers like Icarus, kid I’m the fuckin’, Daedalus of this hip hop genre, the Marlon Brando of melodrama, the Billy Wilder of film noir, the fuckin’, Penny Pax of porn, sack red, sacred, sac religion, Mister Yo
in a uniform of West Indian garb killin’, the sacrificial deer blindfolded like Collin Ferrell, in the booth like phone
credits
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