Sparring Session - Clear Soul Forces

Yo, when we do this, fans throw they hands up like

Wacky-waving-inflatable-arm flailing-tube man

Pack a venue, put the stage on the menu

Continue coming with force out of this world like the Ginyu

You ain’t never seen this, kid from the future

Unsheathing his genius, trunks on some DBZ shit

My mic check’s the kiss of the dragon

Jet Li in a black mask, kicking late supporters off the back of the bandwagon

The boom bap Ermac, using sorcery to kick raps with

African American black magic

Fuck a gun, purple my DBZ shit

Cut a rapper tongue while he emceeing, he ain’t even see it

Towards him coming like them WorldStar punches

The crowd start forming then yo heart start thumping

Bass pumping, moving yo feet, we shaking up the streets

Godzilla feet, beat Rodan in a beat

metaphors, bounty hunting Boba Fett, Megazord

Punching out contenders like Ganondorf

While these labels using interpolation to hide samples

Removing the soul, the jungle of radio club anthems

Too creative for living dormant — super human black boy

Vocally Virgil Hawkins, static shocking my chakras

The dialect is electric

The luminous explosion of energy outshine the whole galaxy

Supernova soliloquies

The lyrical lobotomist

As I break ground, sonar, my boom bap rocking shit, I shift the continent

Word is bond with beats like a symbiote

Building pyramids with all my mental blocks

Beat a beat, could be the Ramses of the rap scene

Pharaohs and free kings blessing download links, preach

Say your graces, hail marying they faces

They Pastor Ma$e and the Bad Boys have been forsaken

Relay the message, thumping in your section

It’s not a cypher, this is a sparring session

Use your mind as a weapon, we detonate on a record

T-minus 3, 2, 1 seconds, now mic check it

Pacifist kids turn anarchist

The archer artist adjust the scope, focused as Clint Barton

Bending corners with a poison gas arrow for six targets

Don’t get me started, uh, spawn and dearly departed

Bringing maximum carnage, be your own Basquiat

Put yourself in your art and originality’s tarnished by

Fear, not belonging, that’s what you walk on your own two for

Welcome to the Clone War

Repeat it, tell ‘em copy that

I have ‘em saying 10−4 — nigga 10−4

Gamma rays, microwaves, and tinfoil

Sparking minds, young intellectuals, I am light, illuminate

We as bright as a bezel, that’s why we shining on levels

Keep an eye on the treble

Downloading an album, Jack Sparrow

We stick to the script, but coffee stains turn me to improv

You couldn’t hang with a sprained ankle, escaping the lynch mob

Mechanical maniac, mechanism do the knowledge

Cannibalistic mind opening Anthony Hopkins

I got a jetpack with two handles made out of microphones

Blast these raps off when I blast off

Leonidas when writing, two hundred and ninety nine people behind

Soldiers without the guns

The one, the author from Sparta they bring us to be fearless

Surround us with drugs and violence

Then move to the suburbs where cops become your new rivals

(Sir, do you know what I’m stopping you for?)

As the world keep spinning ‘round, thunder clouds, lightning showers

Shining down, raining, hit the ground and burn down the town

Staring at these man-made bright lights

I got sun in my eyes, my lids wide

I’m climbing — staring at these walls, all four sides

For three nights, I ain’t even blink twice

One time behind me, one time beside me

Looking up, up in the sky, praying that I start flying

Like angels with wings and a halo, they know

Fuck do they know, these kids shooting like it’s Halo 4

With 4−5's, where we tell ‘em