Anti-Mobius Strip Theory (Should I Be Sick? I Guess Not...Thanks)

Should I start?
Should I be scared of the dark?
Should I rhyme from my soul or should I rhyme from the heart?
Should I rhyme from the mind?
Should I be wise with my time?
Should I kill fledgling MCs before they reach their prime
Should I care about those that spit worthless grammar?
Should I give a flying fuck? Or a walking one for that matter
Should I listen?
Should I speak?
Should I preach?
Should I teach?
Should I have been patient and waited for the beat to drop complete?
Should I display my surface?
Or show you what I hold dear?
Should I let you in my mind
Shall I show you what I fear?
Should I be fearless?
Should you listen or should you hear this?
Should each and every lyric hit you directly in your spirit?
Should I end it right here? Or should I continue the quest?
To fill the chip on my shoulder with the thoughts pulled off my chest
Should music get me stressed?
Or should I have fun with it?
Should I stop this "should of" shit
Should I tell you why Im sick?
Im sick
Im sick of this, Im sick of it, Im sick of those
Im sick of diamonds, sick of rhyming, sick of kicking flows
See Im sick of shining, sick of lying, sick of trying too
Sick of climbing, sick of gliding, sick of flying passed you
Im sick of life, and sick of death
Sick of the worst and the best
Sick of lyricists, Im sick of idiots that slept
Im sick of those thats still sleeping
Sick of those thats wide awake
Sick of rhyming different every time like shapes of snowflakes
Im sick of people that ignore me
Sick of those that pester me
Sick of MCs overseas
Sick of the ones thats standing next to me
Im sick of night, sick of day everything in between
Im sick of men and mice, sick of being nice and being mean
Im sick of this state, this country, this entire world
Im sick of prying open oysters
To see someone else snatch the pearl
Im sick of fact
Sick of fiction
Sick of rap
Sick of diction
Sick of those that lack the vision
Sick of the map, and the mission
Im sick of cursing
Sick of creating these radio versions
Fucking sick of each and every shit talking fucking earthling
Sick of everyone
And no one... now aint that a trip?
Im sick of everything
But most of all Im sick of being sick
I guess I'll switch
I guess that I made a good impression
And I guess those second guessing
Will just have to learn their lesson
And I guess 2000 is hear
And no apocalypse
Im educated and im guessing
I guess its a hypothesis
I guess thats true
And I guess this truth hurts
With each and every verse the pain will get a little worse
I guess Im strong, I guess Im weak
I guess Im completely incomplete
I guess its time
Yes its time to switch my thoughts and the beat
Thank you
And give thanks for your existence
Thank the few that are on my side
Thank the world for its resistance
Thank the lovers
Thank the haters
Thank the minors
Thank the majors
Thank the game, and its players
Thank the supporters, and the traitors
Thank god for thanksgiving
Thank humans for giving thanks
Thank the schools of fish that swim inside of my memory tank
Thank the tank for the filter, that keeps that water pure
Thank the glass cube that surrounds it, to keep it all secure
Thank the hand that feeds the fish, see piranha can be scary
Thank god for giving them teeth, to bite the hand when necessary
Thank those that disputed
Thank the hip hop thats diluted
Thank the clear blue sea
Even though that shits polluted
Thank the hunter, and the hunted
Thank the prey, and the predator
Thank the paper, the reporter, thank the anchorman, and the editor
Thank the dollar bill, that so many of us trust
Thank the entire world, for being so damn fucked up

Cryptic
Aint going out like that
Cryptic
Aint going out like that
Cryptic
I aint going out like that
Atoms
I aint going out like that
Atoms
I aint going out like that