Lucid.

[Zen]

Damn.

A little twisted dribbling acidic acid to this pad. Linguistics unmatched. Spittin' image of a cryptic spaz with his liver attached to written raps like it's my Siamese twin. Bleed each line from my pen as I hit the weed in the pipe again and sit back with wicked women sittin' in my lap. Stick my dick in their snatch til I bust my venom on their ass. Don't rinse it off. I make her friend lick it off and spit it down her throat.

Just a sicko out in the cold without a coat sniffin' pounds of coke while whippin' thousands of locs. Vision's clouded with smoke putting doubt in your hope. I'm about to blow.

Oh no.

This bastard spits fast til you spin back trapped in whip lash. Zen's strapped blastin' ten gats at ya chinstrap. Sit, fags. The Boss is back with intent to smash your bitch ass with writtens mashed to snap your synapses with passion within that laughs at wicked paths. I'm the master. You wish that you bastards mattered. Go and get you a ladder. I told you I'm mental. A symbol of simple laughter in the middle of last/first. Little extravagant fiddilin' with my cash purse. Silk pillows slick as my black shirt. Pistol blasts in spurts. Sickest ill flow since rap's birth.

God damn, what if that was my last words? Sittin' my ass in the dirt casket maskin' my fractures. Weren't the best person alive. Hurtin', Mr. Surgeon let you survive. So I spring back an addict. Let's recap. I'm a savage bastard c-sect grabbin' deep breaths.

Snap ya weak necks.

I punch Mona Lisa in the cunt to finish the painting. Writtens laid clean but spit it in a day dream spinnin' in waves. Green lives in your brain. Speak, sneak in through breaks to bleed the truth inside a piece of mu - sic. Fuckin' nuisance bumpin' blues hits. Love it. I'm Lucid. Up in a room lit with candles on the mantle. Wearin' sandals.Make you blush. Suck your cunt til you do splits. Brush my teeth, then on to a new bitch. Deuces. I'm in a rush.

Some fools wish they were up in a cool whip as lucky as Bu is but buddy you're lucky I let you fools live. Go back to your pastor running because what you're after is actually something possessed by the crafter of rappin'. Savagery tapped in a human body abusin' economies; revolutionary spewin' knowledge to get loose from bondage. Radical. The Master. Solutions flow through the pastures and out to the humans. So, it's a matter within you, you know?

Clothes tattered. Fro's matted. Smoke gathers. Marshall the Flow that broke Saturn. I suppose you al - most had it. Adieu, folks.