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letra de styrofoam - sixth sense

[verse 1]
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 phlegm from thoughts defined
it’s far from plain when that lame
weak sh-t you bought ceases
to give you listening pleasure
remember we can get together
lyric for earic can last forever
just let me know when you need it
i cause tremors 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 t–th hit the skin
the bone of your flow is wrapped in
you’ll no longer be conceited
believe or leave it my friends so be it you couldn’t even
pretend you were hollow, you’re full of bull pee, sh-t, and puke
you keep following a trend that’ll 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 ate 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 you’re smoking it right

[hook]
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 m-sses
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? sh-t you must be styrofoam influenced

[verse 2]
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 sh-t was a mistake to create
it pollutes the hip-hoxygen we intake, and then takes up sp-ce
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 insulates
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 dis-ssembled, 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-

[hook]
-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 m-sses
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? sh-t you must be styrofoam influenced

[verse 3]
i make civilians smile
keep my unique sk!lls and pals
i gotta million styles and i’m a billion miles from reach
the illest child is me
sending you rhyming millie vanillie’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 intestines 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 p-ss the nerds and dunce caps
i run laps make rappers shatter quicker then gl-ss slippers 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
punk, what, just, shut the f-ck 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!

[hook]
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 m-sses
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

- sixth sense

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