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Unsound (Mars Ill)

[Verse 1:] Excuse me, am I unsound because I sound uncomparably creative? Cause I create and expound astoundingly, is that why you're intimidated? I make my music for the few who can appreciate the extent of what I do My opinions on what's dope appropriately differ from you Like Gentiles differ from Jews, that's true But I wait my mailbox daily for a new Labkilik tape More crews should place weight on what you're saying when the mic's on Yo, if Pete Nice and Serch really do a reunion song I'm calling all the request shows yelling "3rd Bass is the bomb!!" I long for the days when being talented meant you were first The subculture remains the same but it seems the earth is reversed So I write scripts in pantomine, whip the cat of nine Spit the battle rhyme that shifts the paradigm Split space and time open to reveal I'm dope in any period On point like a pyramid in a myriad of rhyme styles. (are my methods unsound?) Cause I climb the Nile and swim the Ozarks Blend street smarts with prose with God-given skill but still My genetic strands don't come close to composing who I am Some will never understand this combination of child and man. [Verse 2:] Believe it or not, it's the blue-eyed believer in the Hebrew Messiah Yeshua, Elohim, intergalctical designer Divine like the Styler, eye on the prize like a fighter As I strike with the fist of righteousness to your orofice To the torturous who who have tortured us with your audible lies I get you open with the hopes that I can open your eyes When I rise to the occasion like my name was Walter Payton Inflection of my tone makes certain points hit home Roam from here to Italy Such a deep impact on hip-hop you'd think maybe a comet was hitting me Spitting ill soliloquies in a symphony of similes Connected with the Sphere cause I can't stand this industry. (are my methods unsound?) I'm tired of floods of words without a single drop of reason Tired of cats that change styles like the seasons They're still rhyming montone directly on the metronome now If I battle you in the forest and you fall is there a sound? [Verse 3:] Like a 6 step to a windmill to a headspin combination We move from notebooks to tapes to the ears of my congregation Through tears of aggravation, from another generation come my peers Or maybe from a completely different galaxy I burn fallacies like calories but still the fattest at mastering musical alchemy Sniping radio rap stars from the balcony Funny how crystal clearly I'm thinking But my ideas are shared by no man At least none that have spoken up this point But my broken record of a mind hits the same groove repeatedly I touch on subjects that need to be addressed but who's feeling me? I'm stealing the intellect of astrophysicists A brain surgeon lyricist As ill as this is who'll hear and understand me? I wonder will He open the souls and minds eyes of the lost before I exhaust my duration If it costs my life, my mind, my music, my very reputation My God will see my oddities as perfectly honed talents The world seems bound by evil now but I'll bow my head to tip the balance