Cento

100 years of raps

What up, motherfuckers?
My name is Kang
I'm the left hemisphere of a well developed brain
On the right of me SeaBear is completing the frame
We write raps when we're bored, but this isn't a game
Unless that game is life, cuz we're living it
Isn't it nice to feel the rhythm in your bones?
The tones are hitting you smack dab on your timpanic membrane,
and running through your mind like a kid that is insane
ADHD
Coming through like an 80" HD picture
1080p
Get the picture?
It's crystal clear
That we're gonna be doing this shit right here
For the rest of our years
So motherfucking cheers
Lift up your beers for a toast
We're on fire like a toasted marshmallow
And this isn't a roast, so stop being a harsh fellow
You aren't mellow, and it's pissing me off
Getting off on being a load mouth bitch
Spouting your hate
But my plate is full, and I'm ready to go
Eat my rhymes up, and shit out some crazy flows

Your flow is fat and frumpy while you steal from my pouch
Regurgitating verbals that I already spit out
And like a baby bird, you're feeding while I'm kicking the clouds
Rearranging atmospheres
With mystic powers and doubt
I am a wizard, the king
The lizard who sings
Like troubadours confessing their resistance towards kings
While the futile and pessimistic rely on the weakness of beings
To collapse their inhibitions, while they're addicted like fiends
To all the media schemes
And them prolific successes
Spending caps on cyber sex and using too much salad dressing
While bulimics purge their souls, but not telling
I am lyrically compelling and spelling this freestyle
Approach my vocal premonitions
In my mind's domicile
A galactic fanatic
Oh, yeah
Searching for his last breath
With flows so poisonous they're like
"Creep-pa-pa-pa-blah-blah"
So what's up with all the confusion
Are my rhymes so enigmatic that they're reducing contusions?
But oh, shit
I don't know, man
Ask myself, "Hey SeaBear, what's the plan?"
Hmmm
Taking craps
Nah, motherfucker
A hundred years of raps