Yo, why is the Ripper so ill? //   That would be an unpardonable breech of confidence for me to reveal //   He said, “One of these days all eyes will be on me //   When they look up in the sky and see the neon ‘C’ //   Rhymes inscribed on a nickel disk encased in a glass with an ion beam for longevity //   For more than ten centuries, impressions and memories //   The first time-machine inventor will mention me //   Canibus was a visionary indeed //   He believed light could travel in multiples of c //   The organic supercomputer that solved the mysteries of Klein-Kaluza with two blue metric rulers //   Liked Cool J but thought Steven Jay Gould was cooler //   And he never liked to propagate rumors //   Smoked Canary Island cigars //   Liked American luxury cars and beautiful Asian broads //   He had a strong mind //   He used to philosophize about rhymes while he was pruning his bonsais //   He claimed that he had written the greatest rhyme of all time //   But he would never take it out of his archives //   He wrote two songs per day //   And was constantly experimenting with his wordplay //   In his youth he did a report on the Sloan Digital Sky Survey //   He got a ‘F’ but he deserved an ‘A’ //   I followed his career from the first day //   It seemed the lack of support contributed to his inert ways //   I’ve seen him put in twenty-four hour workdays //   With deferred pay, undeterred by the worst shame //   Public humiliation was the worst pain //   He was spinning out of control like a class five hurricane //   He said he wouldn’t want another emcee to suffer the same //   Especially when there’s nothing to gain //   He was the illest alive but nobody would face it //   He spit ‘til his tongue was too torched to taste it //   Properly funded corporations Carbon-dated his latest creations //   To extract the information, they found it utterly amazing //   They claimed the body of his work was the same thing as a priceless painting //   Never mattered to him the art galleries hated him //   Cause Thomas Kinkade called and said he would take ten //   Complete enigmas wrapped in puzzles encrypted in language //   With sound but without shape or signature //   Kept files in his garage on MS-DOS in a fireproof pod, we thought it was odd //   Outside there was a shed with an Oppenheimer lock //   He apparently kept more wax than Madame Tussaud //   We were in total awe cause it blew our minds //   So many rhymes that were intricately designed //   He WAS poet laureate of his time //   And if you don’t mind I’d like to share some of his rhymes //   Alone in my room looking through the thirty-two X telescope zoom //   Adjusting the focus of the moon //   One should not assume the philosophy of David Hume is nothing more than a subjective conclusion //   What is the maximum field rate application? //   The runaway glaciation surrounding the ocean basin //   Affects the population fluctuation on a continuous basis but that’s just the basics //   The juxtaposition of Can-I-Bus’s position //   The precision of something no other has written //   Way above and beyond what was intended //   The unparalleled malleable enunciation of a sentence //   You didn’t go to college, obviously //   I can tell by your ungodly unintelligible terminology //   Your remarkable odyssey //   The rhyme’s at modest speeds when the brain orders the body not to breathe //   Your competency is not up to speed, you’re not in my league //   You couldn’t possibly be hotter than me //   Or oppositely at minus twenty-five degrees //   You’ll squeeze but the condensation makes rifle barrels freeze //   Allow me to speak figuratively, nigga please //   My intellectual property’s about the size of Greece //   Your counselor advised you not to speak //   My counselor advised me to keep rhyming until they stopped the beat //   In the words of Joseph Heller, “I learned how to write better,” even though it sort of irked me //   He said he didn’t understand the process of the imagination but he felt he was at its mercy //   Which exploits my point perfectly //   And certainly reinforces the reason why nobody’s probably ever heard of me //   Couldn’t understand what I mean by ‘ill’ //   Lest you try to translate what I print to film //   This is the line of will, the circle of time, the cycle of eternity, the emergence of one line //   Academic phonetics render critics tongue-tied //   The personified dry humor of cum laude alumni //   A wise man sees failure as progress //   A fool divorces his knowledge and misses the logic //   And loses his soul in the process obsessed with nonsense with a caricature that has no content //   My style is masterful, multilateral, I could battle a fool and be naturally cruel //   Words of scorn are a disastrous tool, from an existentialist’s view I’m a better rapper than you //   Grab the mic and rip your physical fabric in two, my attitude is fucked up but admirable //   Different methods interpreted into different forms //   From entirely different perceptions and seen from different norms //   Not just spitting a poem, there’s much more involved //   There’s much more pieces of the puzzle for you to solve //   Forty-eight orders of mechanical laws //   And rays of creational cause enhance the cadence of my bars //   Maybe I am self-absorbed //   But that’s the effect, to find the cause you should ask my A&R //   Today is what it is but only because yesterday was what it was //   Permitting you’ve heard of Beelzebub //   A tale of demons and drugs, pissy drunk in the club //   With the DJ doing the needle rub, chances are you’d never see me, son //   Yeah, I know my name’s Canibus but I can’t help you if you need a dub //   I came to holler at some big booty bitches and listen to the speakers thump //   Where’d you get conceited from? I’m so nice on the mic they want to beat me up //   It’s deep as fuck, I ain’t seen it all but I’ve seen enough, really unbelievable stuff //   There’s a lot of times when I want to speak but I’m stuck //   I should leave this rap shit alone and kick my incredible rhymes in the privacy of my own home //   My imagination is my own, the liberty to speak freely lyrically on the microphone //   With a pen in my hand I bring motion to the Enneagram and become Can-I-Millennium Man //   Engrave my back with the Emperor’s Stamp //   Been spitting scientific rap since the seventeenth century began //   Trying to escape the wicked empire of Def Jam in the land where lyrics are bland and heretics hang //   Every warrior has an ax to bury, but he has to learn to discern between enemy and adversary //   I said to myself, ‘Germaine, this is insane, it’s suicide, it’s controlled flight into terrain” //   I fought to regain control the plane but went up in a ball of flames //   And got banned from the Hip-Hop Hall of Fame //   For two bars I kept hearing in my head over and over again //   It cost me everything //   I’m convinced now that more than the truth is at stake //   Where people create language that pretends to communicate //   Euphemisms are misunderstood as mistakes //   But it’s a byproduct of the ghetto music we make //   From an extroverted point of view, I think it’s too late //   Hip-Hop has never been the same since eighty-eight //   Since it became a lucrative profession there’s a misconception //   That a movement in any direction is progression //   Even though the potency of it lessens //   Big money industries writing checks to suppress the question //   And nobody gives a fuck no more //   No one goes to the bookstore ever since the confluence of Moore’s Law //   But I stay in the lab like Niels Bohr, his son Aage, Edward Lorenz and Leo Szilard //   Lyrically I took rap music and turned the knob //   To the right full-throttle and added panache //   Why would I argue with my own conscience over the truth //   That’s like me telling myself, “Don’t tell me what to do” //   Dialyses and analyses of battle emcees, sometimes I say things I myself can’t believe //   My lyrical is so skillfully elliptical, I can understand how it makes you miserable //   You wonder why I never let you play your beats for me? //   And why I keep my studio enshrouded in secrecy? //   You wonder what’s my infatuation with Alicia Keys? //   Canibus, why don’t you speak to me? //   Yo, I meant it when I said no one can shine on a song that features me //   That’s why I said it so vehemently //   You need to replace the hate with respect, I’m probably the best yet //   Poet Laureate! //