Show Lyrics

Mars ILL - Unsound
(from the album Raw Material)
© copyright Uprok Records/Sphere of Hip Hop Records/Mars ILL

Verse 1:
Excuse me, am I unsound because I sound uncomparably creative?/
Cuz I create and expound astoundingly, is that why you’re intimidated?/
I make my music for the few who can appreciate the extent of what I do/
My opinions on what’s dope appropriately differ from you/
Like Gentiles differ from Jews, that’s true/
But I wait my mailbox daily for a new Labkilik tape/
More crews should place weight on what you’re saying when the mic’s on/
Yo, if Pete Nice and Serch really do a reunion song/
I’m calling all the request shows yelling “3rd Bass is the bomb!!”/
I long for the days when being talented meant you were first/
The subculture remains the same but it seems the earth is reversed/
So I write scripts in pantomine, whip the cat of nine/
Spit the battle rhyme that shifts the paradigm/
Split space and time open to reveal I’m dope in any period/
On point like a pyramid in a myriad of rhyme styles…

(are my methods unsound?)

Cuz I climb the Nile and swim the Ozarks/
Blend street smarts with prose with God-given skill but still/
My genetic strands don’t come close to composing who I am/
Some will never understand this combination of child and man…

Verse 2:
Believe it or not, it’s the blue-eyed believer in the Hebrew Messiah/
Yeshua, Elohim, intergalctical designer/
Divine like the Styler, eye on the prize like a fighter/
As I strike with the fist of righteousness to your orofice/
To the torturous who who have tortured us with your audible lies/
I get you open with the hopes that I can open your eyes/
When I rise to the occasion like my name was Walter Payton/
Inflection of my tone makes certain points hit home/
Roam from here to Italy/
Such a deep impact on hip-hop you’d think maybe a comet was hitting me/
Spitting ill soliloquies in a symphony of similes/
Connected with the Sphere cuz I can’t stand this industry…

(are my methods unsound?)

I’m tired of floods of words without a single drop of reason/
Tired of cats that change styles like the seasons/
They’re still rhyming montone directly on the metronome now/
If I battle you in the forest and you fall is there a sound?…

Verse 3:
Like a 6 step to a windmill to a headspin combination/
We move from notebooks to tapes to the ears of my congregation/
Through tears of aggravation, from another generation come my peers/
Or maybe from a completely different galaxy/
I burn fallacies like calories but still the fattest at mastering musical alchemy/
Sniping radio rap stars from the balcony/
Funny how crystal clearly I’m thinking/
But my ideas are shared by no man/
At least none that have spoken up this point/
But my broken record of a mind hits the same groove repeatedly/
I touch on subjects that need to be addressed but who’s feeling me?/
I’m stealing the intellect of astrophysicists/
A brain surgeon lyricist/
As ill as this is who’ll hear and understand me?/
I wonder will He open the souls and minds eyes of the lost before I exhaust my duration/
If it costs my life, my mind, my music, my very reputation/
My God will see my oddities as perfectly honed talents/
The world seems bound by evil now but I’ll bow my head to tip the balance…