Fine Art

[Verse 1: Last Emperor]

The world as we know it, it is a vast illusion
More than a passive poet, I am the last solution
The master of magic music, ambassador of execution
Of rappers I've yet to shoot them, I catch and electrocute them
His highness of flyness if fly is what you're into
Some rappers dropping science, and some be popping pistols
Some rappers preach the gospel, if preaching's what you're into
Then I am an apostle, and these are my a-pistols, listen
The stylist the server, the real rap preserver
Champion, black barbarian and berber
Injury from my symphony, the melody is murder
Public enemy of chemistry, the energy converter
Feed me through intravenous, my veins full of Valvoline
Straight shots of gasoline chase em with kerosene
I boil beat breaks and eat cakes made with nicotine
Cry tears of Listerene and piss Mr. Clean!
T-L-E the human power converter
And if the rhyme is a crime y'all should charge me for murder
Last Emp, approach the stand and cross-examine em further..
As I march through the hood with my imperial posse
Some rappers show me love, a couple of sucka's despise me
If assassins happen to hit me don't even revive me
After I'm long gone, this is how you describe me, listen
Here lies the first, last, his character's first class
Symbol of perfection, complexion, colour of burnt brass
With the superb task to emerge and to surpass the average
A shadowy figure from earths past
With four braids that hang down on my shoulders
When I fight they come to life and strike like four black cobras
Put an end to this, I'm venomous, and your rap's over
Many men have surrendered, The Emp is a pro black soldier, I told ya
I'm the combination of prophecy and mere chance
I'm the combination of old bottles and beer cans
A black cowboy, and a tuskegee airman
AM or FM you can check me on clearband yo
Loud and clear your transmission confirmed
Understand my position you should listen and learn
Three initials it's official yes the sith has returned
From the cradle to the grave, incubator to the respirator
From the birth of Anakin to the death of Vader
The decibel desecrator, unethical escalator
Purveyor of weapons now rotating on your record player
Sprayer of rapid fire, spit like Vesuvius
Lyrically hardcore and a star wars enthusiast
Hip cats say the Emp's raps are the grooviest
Peace to cypress hill, house of pain and funkdoobiest
An author, a poet, a mathematician
Research scientist and a lab technician
In high school I was voted the man with vision
The most likely to leave rappers in a bad condition Listen
I know some have visions of overthrowing the Emp
Many believe that they can see me, it was only a glimpse
I repeated I'm never conceited I'm only convinced
That my status is that of a black ethiopian prince and since
Here's another one to fall under the rhyme charts
Your style's weak, it already peaks where mine starts
This is The Last Emps contribution to fine arts