WORDSMITH     It’s crazy…     (CHORUS)   Perfection   flawless   masterpiece, no mistakes   Back in the1800s I was burned at the stake   Metaphor Mephistopheles,   Degrees I’ve achieved   The brain fluid it takes to believe   would equal the seven seas   I could reveal the true name of God   But you would go insane upon hearing in   Release enough winds to   blow down pyramids   I’m the Michelangelo of syllable   Since I freestyle   Genesis been biblical   That’s something you got to give in to     (Verse I)   Since born in my mama’s vaginal sauna   As a sonogram, I’ve been fond of phonics   It’s ironic, even as an embryonic   Fed through an umbilical   don’t that sound biblical?   I’ve been a terror   Since I teareth out of the uterus   Because evil plans were made to defeat us   As a fetus   Though now I walk in infamy   As a child they had it in for me   Was raised with guns in infantry   In diapers and in infancy   The childhood of a hood   that was raised in the hood   Cops said “put your hands in the hot sky”   I put my hands down on the hot hood   I can’t whine or drink wine   Nine planets planned it   ‘Til it became apparent   My parents shouldn’t have been a parent   State to state we ran some   I wasn’t worth no ransom   Money, won’t you hand some?   A nigga wasn’t handsome   Raise the mind like Charles Manson’s   New I was some man’s son   But which one?   That made me strong   created my poison tongue…     CHORUS     (Verse II)   Why you cut school?   Cause you ain’t feel too good   I cut school   cause my cuts ain’t heal too good   Through all the physical abuse   My mind escaped   through the gift of wordplay   I memorized encyclopaedias and dictionaries   I wrote anthems from antonyms   Harmonies from homonyms   Created cinema from synonyms   Was livid to eliminate   that illustrious life you’re livin’ in   Wrote rhetoricals in rhythms  I could paralyze with a parable   Made rhymes out of religion   Use a prefix as a crucifix   Or suffocate you with a suffix   Wrote lectures so infectious   They’re known to infect the listeners   Who dissin’ us?   Yo punks you wait – I punctuate   My karma’s the comma   That put you inside of a coma   Hyphen, semi-colon, dot, dot   Leave you semi-swollen   Question: You pregnant?   Oh you’re not? I love you, Period.   To sum it up, language is my essence   Fucked up in all my adolescence   Till my Mom’s was out of lessons   Laws, I store convenient   Still I rob a convenience store   Love Mom, Fuck Mom,   Shit, I don’t love me no more   Mentally it didn’t register, bitch   Empty the register, bitch   You just a cashier, bitch   Give the cash, here   Or I’ll shoot you in your cabbage   Hijack a getaway cab, bitch   Words ain’t makin’ me no loot   Don’t change now Dow Jones average   Regardless, we’re Godless   They stole my innocence   In a sense, the judge sentenced me   To 3 lifetimes sentences   To put my life in times and sentences   Art my dark archnemesis   They want me off the premises   That’s what the premise is   Locked on a tier   where you can’t shed a tear at   I studied more Shakespeare   Than any African can shake a spear at   And the whole world fears that   And it hurts   I got caught for killing time   But then I got with words     CHORUS     (Bridge)   People can say whatever they want about me   But agree that I am the Wordsmith   They can try to ignore everything that I’ve achieved   But agree that I am the Wordsmith   I am the Wordsmith   The love of words is deep in my brain   Must be to silence my pain   I am the Wordsmith     (Verse III)   I’m in a game full of morons   And they keep putting more on   I tutor the Torah   I’m in the core of the Qu’aran   The mind’s what I represent   And mc’s better re-present   I’m taking this rappin’ bullshit   to the fullest extent   I have reservations   why Indians are on reservations   Told that board of education   I was bored of education   As far as this go   I leave you deader than Disco   Rocking sex and violence   Over sax and violins   Through your minds camera lens   You’re in need of an ambulance   I’ll knock you to the asphalt   It’s your own ass fault   Your last thought   I’ll never sell my self short to be famous   And taking it up the anus just ain’t us   The world could get the penis   Of this classically trained pianist   My P.O. was p.o.’d   Handed me a cup, told me to “pee in this”   The linguist musician   My college position is that my intuition   Told me I wouldn’t be affordin’ tuition   My education’s all on my own   I might have been born yesterday   But I rhyme like there’s no tomorrow…     CHORUS