The Last Sermon

[Verse]
Committed to these writtens, ain't nothing about it casual
My bank statement never accounted for platitudes
Most rappers are not judged by skill but cashflow
Let two gold plaques crash at light speed to make a black hole

One hit wonder rhymes, point singularity
Quasi stellar radio Rap runs the galaxy
I question Rap in its expression and capacity
The absence of your left hemisphere creates a cavity

Sadly though, your immaturity is neither charity
For hilarity nor is it as attractive as you think
Potential energy that's never made kinetic
Resents my empathy, so I am not afraid to dead it

Stoicism has its allures, yet the soul hungers
For much better weather than just ten degrees Celsius
Artists who failed to capture that truth worry 'bout selling
Though Darwin suggets adaption, go and tell it to the nautilus

Most rhymers denominate themselves as poets, don't
Notice that their prose is as verbose as some Allan Poe shit
But without the insight and reflection, all it is
Esoteric masturbation mantras like the one I just sponsored

Call it purple without purpose, explain your message to
A class of literary greats, and hear their laughter is mirthless
Too content surfing the surface, spouting buzzwords
Promoting imaginary revolutions for purchases

Before the whirlwind envelops you, do you trust the calm?
Are you drawn to escapism, gamepad in ya palms?
Everything is in flux, regardless of that you give love
Though honestly, most of these cunts just to love to piss on your luck

Cee won't have to be reminded, he'll exaggerate
The story for a greater effect, blowing kisses
In the wind, so you think, but when the razor made its way
Through your aorta, maybe you'll rethink the sentiment then

He can blend with the environment, soft skills acquired
Include, never telling the truth without lying
Dressed plain, unkempt hair, won't see him with a Sassoon
Face bearing a stubble that a box cutter groomed

Humble in tune, in pitch like a double bassoon
Unfazed hearing them alpha-females howl at the moon
The kid, who showed manners is a panther in the bedroom
After he flees the cage, you'll dedicate him a sad tune

Good luck decoding him, he's like a ring
That withers your finger until you realize it holds a gem
When you want to keep it on, it's gone - Such is life
Judge a book by its cover and the story rewrites itself

Perception is shooting craps with loaded dice
My objections never broke ice colder than polar nights
Raised tension, emotional charge and great distance
Make-shift relationships break from great friction

Happy endings make for cheapskate fiction
To be deterred by blurbs, that's a cautionary tale
About things we tell ourselves like what wasn't
Or isn't meant to be to make sense of what, simply put, doesn't

The Last Sermon, let us end this discussion
Motherfuckers love to judge but hate being judged, fuck'em!