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Title: All About The Rhyme
Artist: Timid
© 2001
Musically addicted, a victim of rhythmic sensations
Exile myself with a #2 and a pad conducting relations
In depth concepts filed in Mental - pedia
Let my brain feed, live stream, because this is Real Media
From alpha to zeta my thoughts come in waves
And I boogie bored myself to death on the path it paves
Rhyme pays off 2 to 1 but takes 15% in tips
20 more in tax and miscellaneous fees, now cash in ya chips
What ya got left to dip, not much of the green is seen
depressed pockets, nothing but blue cheese and sour cream
The hour it seems...is at hand
but G the Shock to the system because the tightness of the band
that plays out the melody of a stagnated flow
that raises the black pick with a fist that lifts your wilted afro
from constricted arteries, all circulation cease to be
paralyzed from the crown down, still askin, "Are you feelin me?"
[2x]
My mental spills ill will
When I sit still to kill and fill time
It's all about the rhyme, It's all about the rhyme
Time waits for no man but death has patience
and a room that's vacant for we march on to in cadence, life's vagrants
about face, you major pain, drop and give me 50
cc's stat of some of that or whatever 25 can get me
like an iz-el in a barred hell of caged brethren
who watch with us all as the empty bus disembarks for heaven
leave the driving to us, we know where we're taking you
there's always enough space in the hand basket to make room for you too
Who me? Dumb question even a more stupid expression
on the face of a race that thrives on aggression
200 year old tot, the worst of the lot
arrogantly threw away the ticket for the toll, so it'll cost all you got
an advanced civilized man (huh?) a tax write off humanitarian
Normal contradiction in terms in the age of the techno-barbarian
raving and ranting, praising and prancin
not aware of the heat, nor of where they're dancin
[2x]
My mental spills ill will
When I sit still to kill and fill time
It's all about the rhyme, It's all about the rhyme
Bomb strategic, laser guided, press the button and head
straight for your bed, to preach lessons, I ordered the code red
bull to energize, you guys and revitalize
wonder in eyes, like the youth, for these are the days of our lives
but there's suds in our opera, so scrub the rotund
hunny bun, then glaze and marinate on 360 until done
Still hot from the fire conducted by the wire
tele-commuting drama, like a driver on a Firestone tire
admire the courage of a man that laughs at danger
or laugh at the idiot who doesn't heed the warnings of the ranger
Yogi, concentrate on the yellow stone to raise the kundalini
couldn't be me, because the meat sauce is covering my linguini
Chef-Boy-Are-We in it six feet deep
a walking graveyard, where do dreams go when we're not sleep
questions of the ages answered by divine intervention
but most quizzes are open book if you're paying attention
[4x]
My mental spills ill will
When I sit still to kill and fill time
It's all about the rhyme, It's all about the rhyme
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