Now who you know leave the scene. Messier than canvas's by Jackson Pollock. Throwing multicolored thoughts at a rapid pace. I make a mess you dissect it and make sense of it. Then get back to me at your earliest convenience. Check my verbal sequence as I texturize these tracks. Seven layers to be exact eliminate the whack. With a firm brush stroke I mc paintily. Lyricists begin crumbling from my scumbling technique. As I tweak your audio and visual keep my drips minimal messages subliminal. Cause me and rap go way back we compliment. So together we enhance one another that's common sense. High intensity catches the eye your jaw drops. Be a real critic not explicit with false props. I keep my darks deep my lights bright I'm very thorough. With my churascurro inspiration spark and a knife. Now watch me rock the spot like ? minus the heroin. And make my face popular like Andy did to Marilyn. Its kinda scary when real art gets left behind. While they take bullshit and start sellin it to blind folks. But I remain humble as long as ? continues spinnin hot shit. On his twin twelve-hundred color wheels of steel. Fuck mass appeal art is art only the real can truly feel it. So open your eyes and listen. Combine your ears with vision. Or do it cause you love it. Or for cash that's your decision. That's your decision. That's your decision. Its like I'm torn between two worlds. A paintbrush and a microphone. A canvas or a beat. CD or LP. Anything goes when my ink pen flows. And God only knows where its gonna bring me next. So I'm inclined to like paint rhymes and spit kaleidoscopes with one eye closed. And I suppose if you chose the path that I chose. You know the cycle ass ho don't front. It goes inspiration and productivity then a sense of self worth and in steps depression. Like back and forth and forth and back. Should I paint a picture or record a track. A gift or a curse I don't know I'm still undecided. But over the years I've found clever ways to hide it. And those that lack the passion I have may despise it. But my momma made me this way I thank her everyday. So tell them kids to keep coloring outside the lines. Until they lose they limitations and they minds is free. Tell them teachers that you want your money back this time. And tell Bob Ross for all the happy little trees. And tell my momma that her baby boy is doing just fine. Although hes running out of patience but his mind is free. And tell my pops that I'll pay his money back sometime. And that his son is two steps away from where he needs to be