Blow Ya Mind - Clear Soul Forces

Put up your lighters

Your Highness has got the Midas

For the blind kids, everything I touch turns to 3PO eye lids

I’m fresh off winning a battle royal with 10 guys

And riding a luge board on the freeway under a Semi

I be the one, my lyrical weighs a ton

Get in tuned with your spiritual

What goes around comes around, life’s inter tube

Some call it Karma, but kicking raps is my Dharma

Hold my notebook while the Samurai sheds his armor

Do the exorcism look around

Open mouths to spew the truth that I’ve possessed aloud

Digesting vocals really Ouija at laying vocals down

I found spitting I do it.

now we used to be wishing like rubbing genies out

You can’t stop the rain how Kazaam didn’t

We shall invoke a different style, iller lyricists, bomb rhythm now

Bounce, bounce, bounce to the beats

Shit that bang in the twelves and the sub woofers shuffle and rattle the street

I be feasting with verbal ammo, rappers quickly stick to day roles

Put them hands up and say «ho»

Stacking dollars and euros

Travel the globe for bills murdering rappers at will

Building skill that supersede time continuous real

A generous kill, to every MC lacking the skill

I’ll paint an extraneous reel if you napping on ill

You packing the steel?

I’m slapping your grill like slabs on the grill

Keep saying we some backpack as we jacking your Jill

Then meals on the wheels, the food for thought if you know the drill

Them Fruity Loops make fruity pebbles get them General Mills

And I will not give an ounce for the bounce to pay me a bill

I’m in it for thrills, to see how niggas’ll drop when I spill

(Uh) eat every MC getting served and feed they bitch the bill

Real spit I’m tryna drop the shit that bitches feel (uh)

My dick, I mean stick is popping like a blick

If I was writing with a Bic, ink I’d be running out of it

If rhyme was a crime then I’m bout to blow ya mind

It’s your motherfucking favorite and I’m bout to blow ya mind

L.A.Z I’ll kick a rhyme and I’m 'bout to blow ya mind

It’s the wordplay sensei I’m 'bout to blow ya mind

I’m 'bout to blow ya mind, yeah, I’m 'bout to blow ya mind

I’m 'bout to blow ya mind, yeah, I’m 'bout to blow ya mind

I’m 'bout to blow ya mind, yeah, I’m 'bout to blow ya mind

I’m 'bout to blow ya mind, yeah, I’m 'bout to blow ya mind

Tick tick

My fuse, my wick

Diminish quicker, slick focused and yolky lyrics hit

Feel it tickle your liver, that shaking it made your body quiver

Deliver rhymes more explosive than four c4 boxes bombing your lodges

Kavorkian on morphine, I don’t feel a thing

I murder fools and laugh with a butter knife and a mic about to get surgical

I ain’t done yet, no guns yet, I’m Danny Larusso on the beach

Mastering my technique watching the sunset, achieving balance with a crane kick

Get your brain split, they should have never let me back in it

Inspector Gadget in a straight jacket, go go gadget rap hands

Throwing the mic stand like a javelin, you feel it in your abdomen

The adamant subterranean savages, no relation to Macho Man

Rest in peace, while I ascend the turn buckle

And drop an elbow in your chest piece on the best beats

Uh, general Jet Li, my tiger dragon spe-cies

Crouching, hid in your ex-fleece

With the neck she’s giving it

Babble bouncing, dribbling, reassembling niggas with rhythm

And move when they feeling it, concealing the fucking dope style

Welcome to lockdown, the Kung pow coming with more flavor than sweet and sour

The later now, to test your might, give me the mic I break it down

To elements I’m peppermint freshely, rob your domiciles

So hide ya childs, my flash kick shit ripping like Charlie, Guiles

'Til I saw Van Vader he crossed paths with Vega

I’m laying heavy cuts got 1−6 like genesis

Playing the game of slaying lyricists

Where you look for gold you find searching and digging for platinum Youtube gems

Shining clearly I’ll drape you in cloudy jewelry

Supply your sentences, you’re now listening to the judge and jury

I make you listen clearly, drop some Visine that makes your vision blurry

Bars will have the court adjourning, spit some more shit

Spit some more shit unscripted and explicit, solicit the hip hip lobby and

cyphering

With the visitors middle finger I turn it to ritualistic contract signing

It’s only designing was monetizing the rhyming

Undoubtedly blind your optic like I got two fucking rockets strapped directly

to my back

Here to terminate the wack, nah, cause this ain’t that and that ain’t this

When I’m focused I hit, then we rocking this bitch

Get the money and split

Give me the money, I master shit

Practice it with a laxative

Belligerent lumberjack on the track shit

I want my axe back, been swinging a mic

The last half of this rap on accident