Act 1 of Rapsploitation Mixtape

This ain’t for niggas, this ain’t for bitches
My visions of the Scriptures cause glitches in our physics
The alchemist’s chemist, born to sinners
Cast the image of the righteous, the sun is what I mimic
I do a mix, clutching a crucifix until my music is consecrated enough to play at a Eucharist
You can risk purgatory with no further story
As they refer my story to the best conservatories
My words are purely poetic with African aesthetics
Although it’s metrically measured, the swag is asymmetric
My least creative efforts surpasses your greatest methods
Either you grasp that I’m the greatest or you sayin’ f it
I’m playing chess, you idiots steady playin’ checkers
I speak to Mona Lisa, you say archaic sketches
Catch it?

This is more than rap music, it’s mad music
Some-old-scientists-goin’-off-in-the-lab music
My lab rats lose it when they hear the track loopin’
The diabolical last student of Rasputin
Purchase a black Buick and only half fuel it
Put on the soundtrack of Crash and crash to it
I am nuts but not like the cashew is
Hanging out with jazz dudes can only add to it
I see the world as comical and yet kinda blue
My optic views probably set on mono-hue
The second coming of [?] the honorable
But only this time, Soul Model I’m signing to
Probably detecting my methods but you ain’t got a clue
Hey, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do