The Earl Of Nine Teas Walks With Kaleidescope Through The Streets Of Yesteryear

Pyramids surround us
With the hell is down below us
While the heaven’s up above us
You don’t have to love us
Ancient wisdom brothers lurk in hidden b-boy coffee shops
Poets in the city streets transport to distant mountain tops

Smoking grass in a conch shell
Powered by a Duracell
And a rainstorm
Same form
Same format
Hardcore
Barcode
Timecode
Blinfold
Keyless entry
New century
Motion sensor
Enter ocean
Under mountain
Caution tape
Often fate is love and hate
Blinded by the assignmnet
In need of realignment
For this designment
Confinement to a chamber
With amber embers
Remember
Remembrance
Descend into the center sense
Hand held blindfold
Pan fried man died
The cooks must prevail
Beside that brook the snails are quick to judge the insects
MCs of all their energies have lost at least the chin checks
Poems pinned to the cheeks of non-believers
High acheivers
High and eager
Say high to neither
Provide maneuvers
Of warful soother
In a course of cover
Amidst a force of brothers
And sisters
Whispers and silence
Violence
Defiance
Compliance
With new standards
Use of a thoughtful gander
And a plot meander

I’m stylin’
Use to live on an island
Silent the violent
With strategical arsenal
Mellow all-terrain vehicle
Altering brains
Original fifty-percent indigenous universoul
Cleaning the yellow offa yo’ teeth
Loco lumberjacks
With diamond rings
On diamond-backs vocally flossing
Leaping into the speaker rapidamente
Radioinactive place of occupation
Happens to be the tempo
Over the instrumental
My mental is an automatic
Subtracting the half original shady bros
Claiming to have been around
Putting the secular pride of the underground
Into the wanna be tunnel bound bullet
And pulling it into the chamber
Taking off on a mental plane
Careful not to be breaking your delicate listening wings
When the unoriginal simpletons putting it under their cap
Into the top of their unintelligent skeleton hanger
Where they’re keeping their anger
Under their fits and the grits and the hominy
Recommending the trendy g’s mommy
Don’t want me to wear the Tommy Hillside Strangler
Letting immature bygones be bygones
Getting sweated by the microphone Al Capone chromosome jeans by Wrangler
With the intonation of a fallen tree
Is a felony
Superficial dud of a SCUD missle
From the former location of Tel Aviv
It’s the same limited primitive
Belligerent pilgrim should have been
Popping the pill women and their ignorant men
And their children
Everybody’s building steady headed bodies
Out of body building weight belts
Succeeding Arnold Schwarzenegger
Shorten a nigga’s life
Leaving your wife in Boston
Without a decent supply of oxygen
Washington DC to the LBC watching what’s not the irrelevant
Stopping you
And your illiterate just for the hell of it crew
From changing the channel
And swapping roles with Bill Bellamy
Peeping the shitty city pretty tittie game
And keeping it real
Is what he’s telling the refugee
Poets and Serbs
The birds and the bees
Athletic conservative alternative hippies and the nerds and the gs
I’d rather be a futuristical rapper
Sleeping on a bed of nails
It’s cheaper
To be a hella stoned mammal
With my table on the telephone
Sitting next to the microphone saddle
Without the use or the abuse of Marlboro light
But I’ma use your ears as an ashtray
‘Til the last day
Of a man with an accent
Marking you absent
On the complementary aspirin
In liquor store attendance