I rock a candy-stripe engineered-cat fur cloak,
walk dandy-style, killin fear, eatin mad oaks,
growin old folks instead a those heirloom rhymes:
I rock like salt/sage/rosemary/and thyme…

Rap songs are really just long metaphors
slant-rhymed over space bass from mini-KORG keyboards.
Sounds good over congas, good over bongas—
Heavy don’t care how your kit set up, man,
long as it got that snare tight with vintage cymbal,
cause I got more flow than an aqueduct.
Need a crash like an earthquake to tear shit up,
with the bass drum shakin like the EQ fucked up.
The reverb sound like his own doppelgänger;
every hook like a different strip-club banger.
It’s too loud to dance to, too weird to shake to—
That’s cool, space out, let the music save you;
psychedelically, enhancing all them bullshit flesh-bars;
Throw more soirees at your own apartments;
And flow like stone liquefied to orange-black lava;
and don’t never trust a beat that don’t got no congas!

Don’t never trust a beat that ain’t got no conga…
Don’t never trust a beat that ain’t got no conga…
Don’t never trust a beat that ain’t got no conga…
Don’t never trust a beat that ain’t got no conga…

Applyin nice analog loops over girls yellin,
is to Heavy Jamal as ice is to chillin.
Applyin nice analog loops over girls yellin,
is to Heavy Jamal as ice is to chillin—

…Rap songs are just strong metaphors
chained by space bass to mini-KORG keyboards.
If a verse emerges borderline we dig in again
until we leave nothing our wakes except Finnegan.
Cause it’s my way, Swann’s Way, or the highway.
Do mythology the right way, how might I say?
Venerate Kool Keith and Madlib; on good days,
I spray the hood prismatic with verbs, nouns, and bluejays.
Composed like Beethoven, the fabric is woven
out of birds and analogies and sometimes fallacies.
So a roman-a-clef I compose in one breath;
in one sec, rip a set like Jack on rot-gut and meth.
In a word, talk comparisons, confidence, and arrogance,
vocoderized lies about your hair and Tims?
Naw, I fly like the myna in an all-gryphon system,
and don’t never trust a beat without no congas—shh, listen:

I rock a candy-stripe engineered-cat fur cloak,
walk dandy-style, killin fear, eatin mad oaks,
growin old folks instead a those heirloom rhymes:
I rock like salt/sage/rosemary/and thyme…

I rock a candy-stripe engineered-cat fur cloak,
walk dandy-style, killin fear, eatin mad oaks,
growin old folks instead a those heirloom rhymes:
I rock like salt/sage/rosemary/and thyme…