The Last Sermon

[Verse] Committed to these writtens, ain't nothing about it casual My bank statement never accounted for platitudes Most rappers are not judged by skill but cashflow Let two gold plaques crash at light speed to make a black hole One hit wonder rhymes, point singularity Quasi stellar radio Rap runs the galaxy I question Rap in its expression and capacity The absence of your left hemisphere creates a cavity Sadly though, your immaturity is neither charity For hilarity nor is it as attractive as you think Potential energy that's never made kinetic Resents my empathy, so I am not afraid to dead it Stoicism has its allures, yet the soul hungers For much better weather than just ten degrees Celsius Artists who failed to capture that truth worry 'bout selling Though Darwin suggets adaption, go and tell it to the nautilus Most rhymers denominate themselves as poets, don't Notice that their prose is as verbose as some Allan Poe shit But without the insight and reflection, all it is Esoteric masturbation mantras like the one I just sponsored Call it purple without purpose, explain your message to A class of literary greats, and hear their laughter is mirthless Too content surfing the surface, spouting buzzwords Promoting imaginary revolutions for purchases Before the whirlwind envelops you, do you trust the calm? Are you drawn to escapism, gamepad in ya palms? Everything is in flux, regardless of that you give love Though honestly, most of these cunts just to love to piss on your luck Cee won't have to be reminded, he'll exaggerate The story for a greater effect, blowing kisses In the wind, so you think, but when the razor made its way Through your aorta, maybe you'll rethink the sentiment then He can blend with the environment, soft skills acquired Include, never telling the truth without lying Dressed plain, unkempt hair, won't see him with a Sassoon Face bearing a stubble that a box cutter groomed Humble in tune, in pitch like a double bassoon Unfazed hearing them alpha-females howl at the moon The kid, who showed manners is a panther in the bedroom After he flees the cage, you'll dedicate him a sad tune Good luck decoding him, he's like a ring That withers your finger until you realize it holds a gem When you want to keep it on, it's gone - Such is life Judge a book by its cover and the story rewrites itself Perception is shooting craps with loaded dice My objections never broke ice colder than polar nights Raised tension, emotional charge and great distance Make-shift relationships break from great friction Happy endings make for cheapskate fiction To be deterred by blurbs, that's a cautionary tale About things we tell ourselves like what wasn't Or isn't meant to be to make sense of what, simply put, doesn't The Last Sermon, let us end this discussion Motherfuckers love to judge but hate being judged, fuck'em!