Times Are Bleak

[Verse] They say your only good as you last Live and let die, MC's get the mustard gas Because people are born free, and enslaved in artificial civilization No written diction can replicate my grave calibration Spitting tonic phonics for hedonic acclamation A witty quote proves nothing So I put meaning to words I'm puffing I spit classics on plastic You hear vinylheads saying, put it a few grooves back Always ambitious to hear my raps I keep my pad ill, rhyme with mad skills The sun don't set on this rap shit Twenty four seven, three sixty-five