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Braille - Poetry in Motion part three
(from the album Scatter Brain)
© copyright 2005

This is the sequel to a sequel in sequence. Sequel. Sequel to the sequel in the sequence.

Poetry in motion, bodies moving to the messenger
I got a date with eternity, my table’s been reserved
So the rest of me can pass away, I speak from the soul
So shocking I got you hairstyle looking like a troll
Plastic figurines, I rip microphones to smithereens
What I say might sting like washing your face with Listerine
I like my beats bakes fresh like a Krispy Kreme
Straight out the oven with the heaters, you’re now listening
To Braille Brizzy, it’s a mystery how I never miss a
Chance to flip a style, kill the beat and take it out it’s misery
Bring the IV like Roman numeral four
I got the cure, found it praying with my face to the floor
Humility and confidence, I want both in the booth
I was blessed with the ability, so really there’s no excuse
If you ask me to battle, I probably won’t participate
If I was interested, I’d be the first to initiate
I’d rather make albums, write songs, and do performances
Most my freestyles turned to written raps for recorded hits
I’m always down to spit rhymes in a cypher sessions
But I’m know to leave emcees stressed out with hyper tension

Poetry in motion, bodies going through convulsions
Sporadic, when I grab the microphone, it’s an explosion
No doubt I got you open, don’t front, I got you open wide
Open eyes when I illustrate intellect with the dopest lines
My focused mind is focused on provoking thought
If I get exposed or not, I know I’m supposed to rock
You’re either cold or hot, there’s no in between
That’s while I’m sparking from the mouth while I’m spitting gasoline
A double dose of extra strength lyrics for your headache
Think tank tearing through wastelands, get ready
The steady rock, easy to comprehend so it transcends
Taking you to places you ain’t never been before
I’m holding on, you’re gripping life with arthritis
Somebody call the doc, the money’s a microphone virus
Got rappers trying to cross over like Al & I
That’s why I gotta let out this battle cry, hoorah
You’re coughing on the mic, trying to be sick
Acting like you’re deep, talking ‘bout chemistry and Egypt
I’m just placing words where I see fit
Punching at the track ‘til it’s paraplegic