Disconnected

(album: Grand's Sixth Sense - 2011)

I don't even know what's going on
We're gonna erase that all this bullshit talking
Nah just keep on going
We'll just erase it later
I don't even know
Unh unh ah ah ah
Bout to bring it to ya live live live live
What what what what

Now I don't mean to discourage you from making your music
But I only talk this much shit 'cause I'm able to do it
What a major influence I'll accomplish
Some of these young bread crumb lazy bed bums
I'll leave your head numb when I shed some light
On tikes about the definition of skill
Clear it out and try to get some
Grab a mic to gain some recognition and build a fanbase
Man wait, watch how Eyedea do
'Cause I'm the one
And you couldn't be the two if it was just me and you
I keep it true, intrigued
Your crew like recently chewed gum under my shoe
Step after step
They compress into the tracking I feel
Rep after rep
'Cause they ain't fresh with their rapping I feel like
Cracking their necks because
Their worthless search for respect
Is just too much to be asking I don't do such it
Contributes to the pollution
There's no resolution the way I see it
So I'ma be dicks to your face
To your cheap tricks 'cause
I'm basically sick of the fake emcee shit
That stops all of us from having fun
B-boys just wanna have fun
I need excitement so I leave the mic bent
I'm slightly conceited and I think I like it

Now when Eyedea's in the place
You know he 'bout to wreck shit
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)
Yo when Abilities' is in the house
You know he 'bout to represent kid
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)
If there's only one prop in the room
We 'bout to collect it
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)
I could make a fairly dope crew
Out of the crews I just digested
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)

Opposition gets washed away
When my lyrical rain falls
I'm a extraterrestrial professional b-boy from St. Paul
I wanna play ball but I knew that white men can't jump
But it's hard God damn work making you look this bad
Yeah, that's right, work
And work's a bitch when it's hot
But who else would help you to the shop
Just to see you drop?
Not your baby's momma, her sister, or your pop
'Cause I didn't want to be a lyricist it's just I forgot to stop
And you forgot to read the directions that explain how to rock
That's obvious why you're sloppy miss
Sorry bitch broken stage prop
Could hardly get open if you were a bottle of pop
I stay cool with fans, heads spin like hands on a clock
Man when it comes to shit to say, you know I got a lot
But most don't comprehend
Because their head is hard in a soft spot
I just wanna get mine
And if I have to rip through every person in the universe
And beyond to get a response from anybody, honey it's fine
Read the sign, listen to me and feed your mind
And please don't rhyme
That's a part of your life you need to leave behind
We're gonna rebuild, start from scratch
(So you feel like brand new
'Cause the way you acting right now I just can't stand you)

People say for some young bucks y'all is on some next shit
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)
They be like, damn kid, really what did you eat for breakfast?
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)
I know it's hard to follow this shit just takes a couple seconds
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)
Yo if you ain't got dough for the show talk to me
I'll put you on the guest list
(Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected)

(Oh yeah!)

I'm under your skin (skin)
Over your head (head)
On your mind
Off the wall, outrageous, in depth
All of that and a bag of chips
Mixed with windex
To rinse and rid your unworthy mouth
Of my name-staining residue
You wet my shoes with your tears
You better move, disappear or
I'ma get some shears and snip your ears
I'm crystal clear with my instruction
You're part of something that at it's best potential is
Still left to nothin
I kill pets
It must be an illness
I'm obsessed with [?] and neutered
My ambition's cooler
So why would I listen to yours?
My words disturb your whole crew
Two members huddled, disgruntled they
Found their buddies drowned in a puddle of their own drool
Let me help you, melt you
Mold you, hold you, fold you
Fail you, told you
Pal you know whose flows pulls off
Skeleton stamps
And imprints welts on your brain
With my championship belt
Hope you
Felt
The pain

Okay, can I have everybody's attention please?
Yeah thanks, yeah thank you for your attention
Now, this next object for sale is a male motormouth
I don't know about the details of this fine young tongue
Twisting rap guy but since I've been in retail selling wack guys
I've found they're good for helping you fall sound asleep
And they're perfect freak show circus acts
This guy's height is five seven
Weight: one-sixty-two pounds
His mouth makes nifty new sounds
And my crew found he's a well-rounded failure
Yeah he's a well-rounded failure
Anyways, this peasant's stage presence is good
Mic control's alright although it could and should be better
However, his breath is the best
I guess his lyrical content is there and he's got a little style
He doesn't often swear and his voice is smooth
It won't get annoying to you for a while
Now that's a little background
I'ma start the bidding at fifty pieces
Too much? Are you kidding?
The weakest got sold for forty so this shorty's the cheapest
We just got him fresh out the club
So pay, come on and get him
He'll behave and do anything you say, obey
Just whip him okay, we got fitty over here
Do I hear a fitty-five, fitty-five, sixty
Come on I need this thing gone
Sixty sixty boom!
My man on the left got sixty
Who! Got sixty five on this shitty jive talking
Jabber jaw dropping dirt ball called an emcee
Ooh I see seventy
Seventy's high, going once! Going twice!
Seventy going for the last time
Aaaaaaand
Sold! To the old rich guy with the turntables
Now, don't scribble sloppily when you write my check
Just come take your property and we can move on
To the next object for sale