(Killah Priest)
My pen's compulsive, obsessive
It never gives itself enough credit
Its explosive, Ritalin should do it
Odd behavior, with the bars on paper
When I write to this music, reactions
It's like sadness, to laughter
Though I'm spitting classics
The thoughts of madness, it gives me asthma
Rather than think, it sinks into deep depression
Deeper questions, performing neurosurgery
Words in 3-D, its sick disease, discovered
It slowly occurs to me
Go into ya ashtray and light a roach
The test results are back
Let's see what I'm diagnosed or why I wrote this rap
-
My paper keeps gaining weight, fat s***
Like this the bars might break
The diet pill in my writer's skills
Should I put the mic back down and wait
Not good for the heart, caffeine sixteen's
Rap needs more greens, when it eats, know what I mean
Sentence experience hemorrhage, lyrics insulin
Hydrocodone pen, oxycodone toxin when I spit hot wind
With alphabets that connect syllables
Ill individual, I spit visual, lyrical
Go in ya ashtray and find the roach
Hear the results, I'm an addict
Addicted to the mic, here's the diagnose
-
The flow don't have enough sodium
It leaks, that's why I speak from podiums
I teach, two weeks have me on opium
I wrote it 4pm
Last night a glass pipe mic detach from life
Dependency, since my entrance
Instrumental CD's, influent sixteen's
I'm trafficking rap
Shootouts with my mind to get it back
I got it like that, it's in my luggage
As soon as I begin my subject
I finally can go public
Pay a stewardess on my mental plane
Go thru customs, I might buss one
If the beat feels the same
Receive testimonies from past fiends
Rakim spoke, I listened, took notes
But when it's my time to speak
Something got caught in my throat
It's not fair cuz I'm still using
Sorry y'all but the street music
Go in ya ashtray and light a roach
I got the results
And laid back and read the diagnose
The addict in rapping on different beats
There's so many styles I wrote
My pen's compulsive, obsessive
It never gives itself enough credit
Its explosive, Ritalin should do it
Odd behavior, with the bars on paper
When I write to this music, reactions
It's like sadness, to laughter
Though I'm spitting classics
The thoughts of madness, it gives me asthma
Rather than think, it sinks into deep depression
Deeper questions, performing neurosurgery
Words in 3-D, its sick disease, discovered
It slowly occurs to me
Go into ya ashtray and light a roach
The test results are back
Let's see what I'm diagnosed or why I wrote this rap
-
My paper keeps gaining weight, fat s***
Like this the bars might break
The diet pill in my writer's skills
Should I put the mic back down and wait
Not good for the heart, caffeine sixteen's
Rap needs more greens, when it eats, know what I mean
Sentence experience hemorrhage, lyrics insulin
Hydrocodone pen, oxycodone toxin when I spit hot wind
With alphabets that connect syllables
Ill individual, I spit visual, lyrical
Go in ya ashtray and find the roach
Hear the results, I'm an addict
Addicted to the mic, here's the diagnose
-
The flow don't have enough sodium
It leaks, that's why I speak from podiums
I teach, two weeks have me on opium
I wrote it 4pm
Last night a glass pipe mic detach from life
Dependency, since my entrance
Instrumental CD's, influent sixteen's
I'm trafficking rap
Shootouts with my mind to get it back
I got it like that, it's in my luggage
As soon as I begin my subject
I finally can go public
Pay a stewardess on my mental plane
Go thru customs, I might buss one
If the beat feels the same
Receive testimonies from past fiends
Rakim spoke, I listened, took notes
But when it's my time to speak
Something got caught in my throat
It's not fair cuz I'm still using
Sorry y'all but the street music
Go in ya ashtray and light a roach
I got the results
And laid back and read the diagnose
The addict in rapping on different beats
There's so many styles I wrote