Brotha.

Brotha. You’re going to get a serious trauma.

‘Cause all the flora and fauna know that I’m the best author.

I’m like Zeus: created you and gave a box of shit. And you like Pandora

Opened the box and thought, “I’ll use it as my personal Torah.”

Moses let out many people out of slavery, and what have you done yet? 

Presented the world your stupid name with miserable aura. 

1312oracle. What the heck?

Is this a kind of Russian snack?

‘Cause I’m confused. You’re being rude

To other animals like you: they don’t speak, but you do, being a fucking food.

But what does the “blinchick” say?

 

Flippin’ through the channels, I hear oracle’s rap.

Where’s logic? You’re trapped.

You’re clinging to the rubble of your life.

But it’s my time to get you knifed

off right into the abyss of Moria. 

Baldur’ll watch after you in this crematorium

before you’ll travel to the real dystopia…

 

Here, on Rappad, we have strange traditions and manners.

For example, one time I’d been writing battle text for a few days.

And then I wake up in the morning and laugh out loud right in pajamas:

I’ve got 3 votes with 64 lines. My opponent has got an ace…

 

I’ve learned something from this:

If something bad is coming out, like kainic.

You shouldn’t forget the universe. Save it.

 

So, what I’m talking about.

If you’re something dark, I’ll outsmart you like Professor X,

even if I’m not bald.

If you’re Darth Vader, there’ll always be Luke Skywalker or another padawan.

Or at least another bald lord.

 

And the last thing, before I destroy you.

Fuck you, fuck your army, and fuck your programs.

Fuck your beats, parties, and your plans.

You won’t hurt someone with your stupid BBCs.

I even stole your rhyme, and you won’t fucking deal with me.

Time