Wisdumb - Ghostwriter Lyrics

Prome

Tip toe timidly, rhyme, spit imagery
Vine whip, rhyme slick, vibe with symmetry
Ride in a rickety time machine, and fight
Fight the sun out the sky for me, it's time to be
No time to fight for peace, or fight crime
Sidewind through your New York Time's-line
Boardwalk to high line, sword to the sky like it's primetime
While we plays eye spy, while we grind
Grind through the time-space, sharper than high stakes
Justice is blind, wait, middle class mind state
Brittle bone, big and bad, swindle that crime rate
Figaro! Figaro! Sing it back, sideways
Indiana Jones flow, running from a loadstone
Rutherford B. Hayes smothered in the dope smoke
Folklore fools go hoping for a heroin
Smoke more fool's gold, get a grip, guess again
Sorta fine specimen, borderline bedouin
Mortify, mutilate, fortify, settle in
Saddleback habitat, humble as a hurricane
Cataract, Ratatat, double as a Duraflame
The fire's only in the eyes of the arsonist
Arrow fletch, gotta keep your eyes up on the target
It's hard as shit, no one said there would be any evidence
Promises are only slant rhymes with the cleverness
Fly with a set of wings, fuck a cage, let it go
Find the reprise in the metronome, and I've been
Told it unfolds, I suppose it's old partner...
And the beat goes on, du-du-dun du-dun dun-dun BOOM!

T.O.M.C.
Bu-Bu-Blaow

Polish masks, polish bottles off
Just some coddled tots, mazeltov, call it what you want
Gobbled up by a drab ass, scratch that, class act
Smash that in the "What!?!" 'Cuz you like to backstab
Flash pan over Baghdad, bags packed, sad sack
With a knapsack full of prophylactics, raptured
Run, rabbit never got his ass kicked, rancid
Tapping feet, pitter patter, shit's wacker
Than a flock of flaming rappers with a
Pocket full of dope seeds, running from the police
We all fall down, a small town on no sleep
Edgar Allen Poe shit, something 'bout raven
Rolling on 'E,' writing poetry it's haven
A maven maiden Mavis Beacon, blatantly
Just my type, but don't know what to say to me
Baby be my Babylon, girlfriend from Canada
Fresh pressed, with the hottest box the size of Pand-o-ra
Images conjured up, contemplate quantum flux
Compensate poppin' butts, throw 'em a wink and lots of love
Gotcha once, smoke and mirrors, real is under the rug
Running from thugs who want to beat me up 'cuz I don't give a fuck
Color me a courageous yellow belly that could live it up
Interrupt my own thoughts with a moan, kick to the gut
Looking at me stone cold, thinking you're a 'G'
Don't make me knock you out stone cold in effigy
Now you're an F and G, beat's the only thing I'm letting breathe
Mouth full of antifreeze, A.K.A. you're dead to me
Never one for battle raps, candy colored Cadillacs
Cataracts when it comes to swag attacks, that's a rap
Dumb fuck, bound to be bounded or something
Whether it's a munchkin, or in Giselle Brunchin, dumpling
Something's unhinged and winging...
So we O.D. while the O.G.s gone fishing