Normz

I misuse missiles to dismiss my dimmer mistresses

honestly bong rips don't assuage banality in roadtrips

but they're creating a culture of post-modern apocolypse

where we call shotgun and throw chemicals in our cauldrons

auctioning carbon copy models and untendable gardens

Pray, stop polluting our viewing and offering bargains

diluting understanding with advertisement marshes

flaunting size seven models and missing kids on cartons

epilepsy eclipsing the utmost unbearable

"guns, money, and hoes" is a moth-eaten parable

one of three maggi, call me moody mad-eye sippin

polyjuice potion the joke is just contextual

though the content is sensual Freud said it was sexual

don't make me lecture you the rap game is ballyhoo

it's folly, true, I'm a fan of fondue, but not of you, boo

lose it, truth is, big names of the game are fucking collusive

environment conducive to identical blueprints

though these are just the musings of an opponent of shootings

and a proponent of booties bouncin like burmese buoeys

cruising with the cruelty of ennui, eyes bright like rubies

chopped and screwy, ya hear me, I'm care free, but its my duty

to slit these rappers wrists and maroon em on a dinghy

These are three little piggies who caught a wolf in their chimney

philly kid with skin like vanilli lookin for tranquility

you're a bitch who don't know how to deal with me

but the corporate Armageddon leaves ideal debris

ideological secession as my lesson is in session

hope to leave an impression though your eyes are deadened

it's a dead end, great recession, mental corrosion,

metaphysical explosion while the beat is woven

by a production shogun chuggin oxycontin who wavers

at the notion of paying in sexual favors but signs

waivers of his hip-hop saviors and to the zodiac vapors