{Verse 1}

I’m a petulant artist, addressing them with esculent starving

Mexican carvings, blessed with them next to get started

Neptune in orbit, universal energies through the circle

When he please I blew the verse excellent barist

Luchadors leap toward the moon at war and

Boons are bought from women in car boots at dawn

Who’da thought living in dark boosts the corn

Kids sit apart when toons are on 

Paintbrushes stay stuck in days coverin

Brain bustin craved customs glazed onions

Say something say something say something

Drain budgets hate puppets of stage muppets

Late coverage news anchors stay punished

Truth brandished from late comers, booth bandits

Who planned it, two handed proved planet the

New standard, suit grabbed and flew at it

{Verse 2}

My tongue uses Confuciun wisdom and the knowledge

I pump tunes it isn’t gonna stop it’s 

Within just what I’m boxed one chooses

To punch through it and give just what I got 

Sorta like Allan Poe if I had been sewed

By an ink brush with my wings cut

Mind of a data system like what LIMS does

I link up with my limbs, tongue, brain and soul

For a creative stroll with a sacred scroll

My limbic system filled with wisdom

I just put the words together and spill from England

A linguists mitten fits admittance killed em

My name isn’t Simpson

I’m observant in the shadows

Your spots lurking in the gallows

My blot splurging the gods learning 

To stop perking world stops turning when my hands froze

By the curse of Jesus I was asserted

Between Earth and Venus 

Containing gold like a purse with sequins

Recycle like I learn and teach em 

I earned my peace just when when I lurched like lemur

Or Lurch like feeder to the family with telekinesis in their battery

I’m the opposite in height but I’ve got a bigger bite

So I hop on different mics and I just chop this bitch in five 

First we seem to start with the work graffiti art

Trainline painters with a brain like razors

Spray can magicians when they hand a picture

And stay magnificent

B-Boys and breakdancers that see noise and gain answers

With each voice they may dance to 

The tape players and nay sayers 

Head spinners and breadwinners the best in it you’re left pissed

The next in it is desk killers, rec flippers

It’s not done til the DJ says finished

Scratchers on tables, giant sound systems 

Cloud visions, loud symptoms for the emcee’s profound writtens

My pen flips the page, sends rips through maze 

Like Ken did to Drake, but when did it change?

My intellect indirectly threatens the little heads 

Of brittle pens that feel up upset with the shit I said