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Yo, he sits down at his desk just a paper and a pen,
The wheels in his head are turning, he going at it again.
He turns up the volume on his headphones..
To drown out the noise of the place that he calls home.
His mind is racing, but his paper is blank
He doesn’t know where to start, where to drop the ink
No one knows what he’s got in store, what he’s gonna roar
But he’ll have his opponent lying dead on the floor that’s for sure.
As the pen touches the paper, the creativity flows
As it flows, it grows all the way down to his toes and he knows
That the cycle has just begun
This is where he needs to take off and run
And spread his wings and fly until the songbird sings
This is where he’s happy, not with material things
Here he’s in his prime, its his time to shine
Whatevers wrong in his life, is now just fine
They say time heals all wounds but not this time
The only cure for it is flow meter and rhyme.
(2 bars rest)
All over the page, he’s writing this and that
It’s a lyrical attack knocking cats flat on they back
The pen and his fingers are one in the same thing
Everything he does now comes natural to him
Influenced by the best, he puts other suckers to rest
Whatever the problem it may be gets put to the test
This lyrical content is the cure for this mess
I address, anybody who doesn’t agree
Im not interested in hearing your religious decree
Because to each his own
And as a name becomes famous the face is unknown
For the face who’s name it is cannot be shown. He’s alone
Sitting by himself at the table
Been like this since he got out the cradle
Depressed at times, invisible lines shine
When he writes the rhyme, one line at a time its divine
Watching him do what he does best
Writing works of art he considers his quest
He’s a genius at work, but to him it isn’t work
So don’t misinterpret the first verse
When he’s sitting there, hands flying everywhere,
Crazy hair, nearly falling out of his chair