[Verse: Mike Shinoda]
Spit drips from the jaw of the witless witness
Cryptic colloquialisms shift your mid rift
Dog-paddle through a bog of shadows and smog
With my thought catalog, analog, rap battle log
Keep my distance, and fear resistance, hurt by persistence
The twisted web of tangled lies strangles my hope to waste and numbs the taste
And I'm forced to face these hate crimes
Against the state of being, feeling the weightlessness
Press me to the ceiling, reeling around rooms, riding a bubble of sound
Tuned to the frequency making your chest shake with every boom
Involuntary muscle contraction
Ignoring your neck’s breaking, musical gas fume euphoria
The sound pounds to make the dead flush
To hand you a head rush with read rhymes and said stuff