The Last Emperor - Fine Art текст песни

The world as we know it, it is a vast illusion
More than a passive poet, I am the last illusion
The master of magic music, ambassador of execution
of rappers I've yet to shoot them, I catch and electrocute them

Cause highness of flyness if fly is what you're into
Some rappers dropping science, and some be popping pistols
Some rappers preach the gospel, if preaching what you're into
Then I am an apostle, and these are my apistles, listen

The style is beserker, the real rap preserver.
Champion, black barbarian and berber
Injury for my symphony, the melody is murder
Public enemy of chemistry , the energy converter

Feed me through intravenous, my veins full of Valvoline
straight shots of gasoline chase em with kerosene
I boil beat breaks and eat cakes made with nicotine
cry tears of Listerene and piss Mr. Clean!

TLE the human power converter
and if the rhyme is a crime y'all should charge me for murder
Last Emp, approach the stand and cross-examine em further..

As I march through the hood with my imperial posse
Some rappers show me love, a couple of sucka's despise me
If assassins happen to hit me don't even revive me
After I'm all gone, this is how you describe me, listen

Here lies the first, last, his character first class
Symbol of perfection, complexion, colour of birth; brass
With the superb task to emerge and surge past the average
A shadowy figure from earths past

With four braids that hang down on my shoulders
When I fight they come to life and strike like four black cobras
Put an end to this, i'm venomous, and your rap's over
Many men have surrendered, The Emp is a pro black soldier, I told ya

I'm the combination of prophecy and mere chance
I'm the combination of old bottles and beer cans
A black cowboy, and a tuskegee airman
AM or FM you can check me on clearband yo

Loud and clear your transmission confirmed,
Understand my posistion you should listen and learn
Three initials it's official yes the sith has returned.

from the cradle to the grave, incubator to the respirator.
From the birth of Anakin to the death of Vader.
The decibel desecartor, unethical escalator
Purveyor of weapons now rotating on your record player

Sprayer of rapid fire, spit like Vesuvius
Lyrically hardcore and a star wars enthusiast
Hip cats say the Emp's raps are the grooviest
Peace to cypress hill, house of pain and funkdoobiest

An author, a poet, a mathemitician
Research scientist and a lab technician
In high school I was voted the man with vision
The most likely to leave rappers in a bad condition Listen,

I know some have visions of overthrowing the Emp
Many believe they can see me, it was only a glimpse
I repeated I'm never conceited I'm only convinced
That my status is that of a black ethiopian prince and since

Here's another one to fall under the rhyme charts
Your style's weak, it already peaks where mine starts
This is The Last Emps contribution to fine arts