Contact - Nick Wiz

Cascade from the Sun as the venomous flavor lay strung

Straight from the lung to a razorblade tongue (Yo, that was real)

But, shit, it should have been a century back.

Those who are

Mentally strapped now will eventually snap (True)

Snakes rise from baskets—you can check it, explore it, pass it

But do not ignore the facet I’m def-er than boric acid

When it infiltrates, your temple shakes, leaving

Memories distorted, though no injuries reported

You know the ill schems of high beams and guillotines

On the for ral, I hear the screams from the Philippines

Rupture your dental when professional perspective flip

It’s fundamental, yo, that questional selective shit

Now what you facing?

Complications get emotional

No time for wasting, conversation nonnegotiable

Doubters and provers know antagonist can snatch the profit

Counter-maneuvers could be hazardous and catastrophic

Those who are used to this say Kaos can prevail daily

Suppose a crucifix can help you if you Hail Mary

Putting my genocide/gin aside, you know I get melodic, right?

The unidentified, phenomal, Kaotic type

When I communicate, I cover like a sewer plate

See me and Hawk me like Seattle when I ‘lluminate

Check your division.

Intuition brings precision, but

My mysticisms, yo, can fuck your whole religion up

For those who might incline, you’re tipsy, but believe me, lord

No calling psychic lines or gypsies moving Ouija boards

It’s just an entity that tags on you mentally

Contact!

Draw the flag, take the penalty

when speaking on the topic of being

Intoxicated (by verbal narcotic)

when we drop gems you can feel

(From your melon to your Timbs on the real)

While others are prisoners to sonic incarceration

I transcend through amplitude of frequency modulations

My rhymes inflict something wicked when they spray, brain

Decay got me flipping, drowning rigid in the bay.

I lay

Every line like borough cement, causing a microphone

To tilt, creating empires like the Romans built

My scripture’s lifted.

I roll it up and make a spliff, inhale

My verbal gift prevails, rating tens on every Richter scale

This shit is drama, no part of it is comedy

I gotta get away, hit you riding on the chronic leaf

And atom-bomb a beat, releasing mega potent stimulants

Mad adrenaline in circles, see?

Now you’re vertical

With no thanks to Mountain Dew, I’m spitting shanks when bouncing through

A track, the impact is like you smoked an ounce or two

I’m in your headphones, my verse is bound to blow your bubble off

But the high boomerangs, I catch you slow with double force

I’m high octane, I clot brains and veins, the pain

Remains, you’re lame, game niggas can’t maintain

They’re quick to vanish, they didn’t manage to discover I’m

Inflicting damage, leaving niggas Shrinking like I’m Rick Moranis

My method’s on the D.L., I keep it top-secret

Plans of overthrowing me?

(Enlist the bitch in shock treatment)

The long-term goal is to construct a sick trend

Transmit my flow within, make you rupture BIC pens

Even plot in shackles, I’ll leave ‘em hole-y/holy like tabernacles

With shattered Snapples in their Adam’s apples when bladders travel

Making punks bleed.

Triple the strength of skunk

Weed when I bomb tracks—catch the contact

when speaking on the topic of being

Intoxicated (by verbal narcotic)

when we drop gems you can feel

(From your melon to your Timbs on the real)