If they’re gonna hang me, better get my best kicks on, the black Chucks with the rips on ‘em, yo, in case I gotta flip on ‘em, New bang, new slang, new script on ‘em. Better butter up the drum kit and slam on the buckets like Animal from The Muppets. Coming to get comeuppance, we can tell that you’ve been suffering from the huffing and the puffing of these thuggish motherfuckers. Can we stop with this misogynistic imagery? Your dick doesn’t interest me. Your weed doesn’t interest me. Seems the industry is ripping at its inner seams. It’s time we intercede. Let me see the energy.
This is the sound of an emcee catching his breath. I’m just another verse closer to death. Just one hair shy of a guy with a mark on his neck. This is the sound of an emcee catching his breath. I’m just another verse closer to death. Just one hair shy of a guy with a mark on his neck, so show a little fucking respect.
Barreling apparently at four hundred fifty Fahrenheit, and I’m crushing on the fairest pair of tights wearing Paris types to cherish like the stars are out, the moon is full, the air is right. Blaring Biggie out a busted stereo - don’t care tonight. Erudite as the rarest, Russian Nabokovian novelist. Promise this, you’ll listen to more honest shit - Common, Nas, Talib Kweli, Lupe Fiasco, Pac, and shit, hip hop that popped beyond the box y’all prematurely propped for it.
This is the sound of an emcee catching his breath. I’m just another verse closer to death. Just one hair shy of a guy with a mark on his neck. This is the sound of an emcee catching his breath. I’m just another verse closer to death. Just one hair shy of a guy with a mark on his neck, so show a little fucking respect.
I was an animal before Millie pulled a hand-cannon out on Santa in the store, perambulating campuses, contaminating animated fans with an outstanding, uncanny sense of abandon. Goddammit, let’s all get candid. Jump out our pajamas like a bunch of human canvases, between The Great Goddamn and the fantasy of advocating art as mass insanity and tragedy. You are as much of a masterpiece as you have to be. No, sir, no exit strategy. Nomad, no tracks, no back of me. No pop, no pomp, no pageantry. No elastic. No capacity for wack rappers infatuated with cash, titties, Maybachs, claiming that their flagrancy will save rap. Either we’re a needle in a haystack, or the needle getting scratched on the playback.
This is the sound of an emcee catching his breath. I’m just another verse closer to death. Just one hair shy of a guy with a mark on his neck. This is the sound of an emcee catching his breath. I’m just another verse closer to death. Just one hair shy of a guy with a mark on his neck, so show a little fucking respect.
Magnum Opus is a rap duo like no other! Celebrated, decorated, and emulated, but never replicated, the group consists of
two chums...just like you! Arison Cain and Spesh to Death are clever lads, emcees of the illest breed who aren't afraid to get their fingers dirty delivering crate after crate of soul-scattering flows over bone-shattering beats, and still be home in time for dinner!...more