whatiwas

i drop samples in layers and spit rhymes outside the context of battles, watching M.C.'s call themselves Masters of Ceremony when really they're just moving cattle, i'm reaching a point where the very word "emcee" sounds like a slave name and it rolls off the tongue like a curse, believe it's a blessing and you'll bounce with me, bounce with me,

and yet even my own abstractness holds no mastery, i'd throw stones at the culprit behind my stolen soul but i'm so sick of martyrs (wanna talk about context, that one transcends it: fuck you and your cause), if i could i'd give to you everything you could possibly imagine, but i couldn't even if doing so wouldn't compromise the very essence of me, and i'm sorry you're not hearing this but you weren't feeling it anyway when i actually was talking, and yes i said it without codes,

oh wait, i was talking about me, wasn't i?

if we're going to stay on-subject, let's call what it is and name it a scheme, i don't care much for my voice and it seems to be guided by my dreams in directions i never wanted it to go, i've started listening to the voices, you know, and they're starting to make so much sense i think they're coming from my heart, the hardest part is figuring out which one is me and which one is you,

THE YOU SHIFTS AND NEVER SETTLES ON ONE, THE TWOS ARE COMPLIMENTARY AND THREE'S ASTRIDE THE HOOK, I COUNT IT ALL IN FOURS AND BIND IT NEATLY IN THE MEASURE, MY TIMING'S OFF AND SOUNDS AGAINST THE METER BUT IT USED TO BE COMPLETED BY THE SOUND OF AWKWARD VOICES SCRAPING WALKS TOGETHER BY THE LIGHT OF STROBES.