[Kool. A.D.]

Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
Bless up, bless up
Peace, Allah, jah, rastafari [?]
L'chaim, tongo, yea, [?], tongo
Allahu akbar
Peace, bless up
Intelligent black gentlemen
Workaholic official bralick?
The lost [?]
Track lister, the whisper
Hit you with the 53 shades of yurper
Plus two for the road
The love circle, the soul above
Covers around the snug fixtures below
The elemental shapes they combine
In the tape echo signal to the ear burrow, hair vibration
Hit you with your own private radio
Personal radio station
Empty the soul and let the soul stay vacant awhile
Take a little soul vacation
Vision through the hallways adjacent to edifices
Elegantly terraced and shit
The manicured greenery, the perforated soul-healery
Young Gail Greely with the publications
Hovering inside of the Sun
Soul suffocation
The pink cocaine
Hit you with the quick style
I think, I think so, mayne
Yo, I think slow brain
Sometimes my mind clearer than a window pane
I see through the window frame
I, I seen through the window frame
It's the peace, Allah, ja, rastafari changa
Hit you with machine gun front
Fuck apartheid, art life
Truth is immaculate, gets fantastic
Excess or success, I flex less and suck less
Or, I flex much more
Young Arthur Anderson, Rushmore
William Blake, Anderson, Hans Christianson
You and your mans listen like espionage
Wreck me and presently lies
Into the rectum of your celi- cerebellum
The seller of the minds
Ill seller door, the ill mind
Mullato-type drug deal-maker
The Jake-faker
The merit lake
Hell freeze over
Figure skater
The picture taker
The numerator and denominator
Both dominate the ghost in your shell
Yo I hit you with the west coast carve and swell
With the comics and books like Marvel
Ice cream, Carvel
Finessin' the bowl
I'm flexin' on you, heh
I could do impressions as well
Nah, jokes, maybe a little
But I don't feel like that right now
I'm in the forest and I'm hiking around
Feel like I'm in the lightning round
Yo, the truth is a beautiful frightening sound
Breaking all the Vicodin down and sniffin' it up
Your n***a ain't giving a fuck, mayne
I'm livin' it up, mayne
I'm lit [?] the [?] dutch
Yo, shout to Detroit and the Pistons and such
Uh, I sip liquor watching Simpsons and such
And fuck, whoa
Yo, I feel like a young Thomas Pynchon, what up?
Yo, Vincent Van Gogh with the pill box
Chill with the ill vox
Take a little Bronx tale, Jackie Chan, Chuckie Chaplin
Who's askin' man
Yo, I feel like I'm black Superman versus black Batman, don't ask man
Remember that time I told you to throw your Tascam in the trash can?
Yo, fish it back out let's make a track man
I stand on the vast land grinnin' and winnin' and sinnin' and forgivin' and livin'
Yo, I'm vivid with the perpetual styles that's hecka cool
Shout out Amaze, Lauryn Hill, and Kassa, and Tekla too
[?] days in the tabernacle at the vestibule
Mayne, the actual, Peace, Allah, bless up, jah, rastafa--