Words Past The Margin

[Verse 1: Jesse Abraham]
When I told em I’m a pugilist
They ain’t argue
They just said, “What’s a pugilist?”
Like I’m new to this ruthlessness
Like a novice in the office who the bosses call a tuna fish
He’s a nudist, jewish, buddhist who is scrupulous
Mutinous mutant whose students would say is ludicrous
They said his humor is just foolishness
As a emcee he’s empty as a stewardess’ uterus
They said his vocab is superfluous
He’ll never murder the scene in the city like
David Berkowitz
And that’s the Son of Sam
He’s just a son of Sand
And I seen him do the running man at summer jam
He’s that J-E-S to the S-E-A-B-R-A-H-A-M to PM
Yeah so maybe if you investigate you will find truth behind what he’s sayin

[Hook]
I sip the Dom P, watchin Gandhi till I’m charged
Writin in my book of rhymes, all the words past the margin
So while you imitating Al Capone
I be Nina Simone
And defecating on the microphone x2

[Verse 2: Blu]
Pocket full of shell toes
All they do is dream of sex
Play connect the Adi-dots
Say realize, stay west
Place bets
Casino made, next
Tux stay fresh
Babes, benzes and Bentleys
Vine, vide viche
Have-nots got them knots in that Disney bag
Man, they took that castle outa Plymouth
Now they shippin flags
Vintage
Vision of the future, yo
Camcorder, cannon like producin' canned products
Japan bought it
All black everything
Leopard print wallet fallin' out my back pocket
Stop and never feel it
Never tell a soul that shit
Skippin' through a different hell
Fire and fish baskets
Samplin' soul classics
Hot shit
Master, like I’m just a man on top of my business
Handle niggas get handled all in the wrist
Blowin' French wishes and kissin' women in French
Leave a three-stripe print in a picket fence
Different prints
Same Riviera though
Yo really you’re a silly era
Always cause terror off that Philly twist
Burn a cherub
Pull a chair up, listen to this
Blunted while I be
Sippin my liq’s
Burn the hair on your chest up
Lit as a cig
All flared up
Kick it with crips
Ridiculousness
Who’s rid of the shit
Tell the Mrs. not to mention the ring
Almost forgot about that treble cleft
Bing!

[Hook]
I sip the Dom P, watchin Gandhi till I’m charged
Writin in my book of rhymes, all the words past the margin
So while you imitating Al Capone
I be Nina Simone
And defecating on the microphone x2

[Verse 3: Jesse Abraham]
They say the best things in life are free
I say the best things in life aren’t things
Honestly what bothers me is modern people’s constant need of modesty, debauchery, technology and posturing
It’s got me pondering how they could think they’re honoring the genre it’s a mockery, it’s nonsense so there’s gotta be a confidence inside of me
Providence and prophecy
Consciously demolishing the policies of poverty with colonies of prodigies
Novelties and oddities
My qualities are arguably the hardest thing since broccoli for wannabes to swallow
They wallow in their wallabies
“Socrates philosophies?” chill, it ain’t 93
I ain’t trying a be a nominee
I made bread and built a house
Ain’t living in no cottage cheese
So check my velocity
My wattage is a problem, it’s an audible atrocity

[Hook]
I sip the Dom P, watchin Gandhi till I’m charged
Writin in my book of rhymes, all the words past the margin
So while you imitating Al Capone
I be Nina Simone
And defecating on the microphone x2