Caught the fist! Daunted bliss by a home-stoned, homeless, bone to pick—and with a self-pried self-pride ownership; the kind of servitude that serves to fund an odalisque. And I’m so-like-over-it, and over cost, and cost-effective means to funding my university—education is necessary without Salvador Dalí poster frame on white wall. Fall down on roller coaster: coaster-reliant bolster. Most the floor is plastered with beer stains. That captures a fraction of fracture and fallibility. Ability is half of your worth in a weight worth weighing. *???* Catalyst: fashion fit the passion pit that’s stringing together all my emotions. Post no bills and fills in my skeletal-palette-MS-paint pencil doodle for an ego. “Neato!” That’s sarcastic. The kind of comments that you get from those who look at you funny when you rap from out of boredom of the same old sort of forum—consortium; born and re-born, ordered, packaged as you asked for. Floor a corpse and not a spectator; neither buy CDs to support. In this day and age, it’s hard to make a living off of blank stares anymore. Spam mail makes me feel important, but I keep telling myself... *You need to quit being such a bitch!* Nah, I swear I’m cool mane. Endodermic; got my own agenda for the full-blown insane cynic. I’ma criticize the whole game—every bureaucratical fanatic finds me reason to support anti-conformists in conformity? The holed plane: you are misdirected if you think that sitting left or right defines an individual, divided by a dope claim. Claiming that you have an answer for the rectifying of an un-conjoining puzzle; here’s a muzzle! Topical the optics, everybody got it. Some have got the steez to make you feed it from their gauntlet. I’m a lot of logic—cognizant, not conscious. Label me post-modern if you have to pick a cock—pit—swallow! Hollow out another when I finish. By the immigrated finick, I can tell that I’m a critic, ‘cause the speaking out my mind, I found I really didn’t get it ‘til I found an outlet founded not for foraging attention. Exit tension! Lemming? I’m a lemon—sour! Hem another Indie Rap/philosopher together. Better, medically adhere a mind of marijuana vesture with a thoroughly diluted scope of politic and candor. Ban a banner with David Banner’s face—this isn’t even an argument. I rock an anti-parliament slogan; this makes me an anarchist. I’m pissed at life; this makes me an emo kid. I kid about writing hatemail to God; this makes me an atheist. Yo, I’m facing jail time for a crime I didn’t commit; this makes me a convict. I’m a rapper; thus, I must be a convict. I’m a victim of every stigma you subject me to. Hi. Nice to meet you.