Yo, I’m trying to find time, to find that fine line between
a rhyme you can catch the first time
and the kind that makes you press rewind.
My words climb your spine and reach your brain stem.
My speech is the drained flem from thoughts defined.
It’s far from plain when that weak shit you bought ceases
To give you listening pleasure remember we can together
lyric for earic and lash forever just let me know when you need it.
I cause tremours in jaws of all stupid, super-heated airheads
Because their ego gets depleted, y’all should have cheated.
I gnaw on flaws you when my teeth hit the skin.
The bone of your flow is wrapped in you’ll no longer be conceded.
Believe or leave it my friends so be it you couldn’t even
pretend you was hollow: Your full of bull pee, shit, and puke.
You keep following a trend that will end tomorrow.
I can sense your sorrow. I levitate above a heavy-weight
and drop a mental car load to scar skulls.
You’ll get hate up, straight up, like lines in a bar code.
Yo man don’t wait up the sun won’t come out so can I borrow
your dome for a night? So we can get stoned on the mic
with Styrofoam in your pipe? make sure your smoking it right.

See we are not your average B boys. With that
Mindless, spineless, rhymeless, beatless, scratchless, weakness
that kids have adapted while blinded and distracted by the masses.
My task is to destroy the weak noisy plastic Styrofoam that calls itself hip-hop.
(“it calls itself what?”) it calls itself music (“why would you call..”)
man you call that hip-hop? Shit you must be Styrofoam influenced.

Now there’s styrofoam cups, coolers, plates they make it in chunks
To encase electronic waste some use it as base it’s a great way to escape.
Others just like the taste or something, that’s fake,
I hear it on everybody’s tape in totally different shapes.
For goodness sakes admit this shit was a mistake to create.
It pollutes the hip-hoxygen we intake, and then takes up space
Gets all in your face with one hand it can break. After the race
You’re rewarded with a styrofoam frosted cake.
Whats the “holy moly” in your trophy case? They sell the foam at target.
It’s in the walls of your home apartment. It insolates.
It’s in every single state, it left Mother Nature raped
It’s cousin is a plastic blow up doll you can call for a date.
It’s always been lightweight, one day my partner laced his joint with some
When he inhaled his joints got numb and he started to twitch and shake
His mental was disassembled, body resembled an earthquake.
That’s when I decided to take my time to rhyme and erase the
un-biodegradable innovations lacking imagination and staking paper
by the crates. I’ll do it physically through the symphonies
composed by me and abilities, suppose we fail we’ll birth the phone
facilities and ruin every music industr-

-y are not your average B boys. With that
Mindless, spineless, rhymeless, beatless, scratchless, weakness
that kids have adapted while blinded and distracted by the masses.
My task is to destroy the weak noisy plastic styrofoam that calls itself hip-hop.
(“it calls itself what?”) it calls itself music (“I don’t get it, why..”)
man you call that hip-hop? Shit you must be styrofoam influenced.

I make civilians smile. Keep my unique skills and pals.
I gotta million styles and I’m a billion miles from reach.
The illest child is me. Sending you rhyming
Millie Va Nillie’s to Gilligan’s Island. I’m an adolescent
At the peak of my aggression, I teach a battle lesson
With each session I twist intesines it’s depressing.
You leeches needed something to attach to, so you found a
Styrofoam microphone in the trash, when you rap I smash backs
and collapse caps with an abstract word task pass the nerds and dunce caps
I run laps make rappers shatter quicker then glass clippers on tap dancers
answer to that I treat losers like tumors of cancer they can cut off my nut sack.
What’s that? This kid is slicing men. I leave you froze, Eyedea was chose to throw boat flows cause I’m cold as liquid nitrogen.
I rip the mic again and bust a second nut,
would you like that in your styrofoam cup,
huh, what, Just, shut the fuck up. I’m feverish the reason is:
MTV and BET it’s really unbelievable but even though your people
Are intrigued by how much dough they make it’s styrofoam,
It’s plastic and I’m here to let you know it’s fake!

We are not your average B boys. With that
Mindless, spineless, rhymeless, beatless, scratchless, weakness
that kids have adapted while blinded and distracted by the masses.
My task is to destroy the weak noisy plastic styrofoam that calls itself hip-hop.
(“calls itself what?”) it calls itself music (“you call it what?!..”)
Don’t call it Hip-Hop. Don’t call it Hip-Hop.