| Bioelectric signals inject your mental
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| When properly connected it resembles lit pyrotechnical visuals
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| Manifested in pixels, then compressed into physical and digital
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| Which lead to collect impressions residuals
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| You heard of my relentless certified defense
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| Spit so nutrient rich it could fertilize semen
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| Still seeking to reign supremacy
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| Born with the remedy to instantly convert creative energy to imagery
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| My tablet is a graphic app shop
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| My kneecaps pop open and unlock a set of laptops
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| Stopping my rap crop perhaps not
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| I got a stack of unfadeable pages somehow packed in a matchbox
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| As a lad my pads at it especially fast
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| Too advanced to even be in the exceptional class
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| You don’t want no parts of K-Rino's flow squad
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| So odd and solar charged that the curtains in my home hang with no rod
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| To a perfect extent is the work I invent
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| Speed writing, combining each word with cursive and print
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| I take the bare basics then I raise them to rare places
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| Tiny airspace’s that contain 80 foot staircases
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| Who are they to say I should do it a newer way
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| It’s super K, it takes me a week to make it through a day
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| I eat lethal C4, the heat core sweeps through each floor
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| My neck releases it like a leaf blower
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| The raw crooner, universal guitar tuner
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| Harpooner who can make later arrive before sooner
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| Ideas I then pack 'em in till I’m dizzy
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| For me to win I’ll snatch your pen from a grizzly
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| Thousand of written styles produces galvanism
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| The styles I give 'em, all the new rap algorithm
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| Sending it every minute with definitive winning hits
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| So unlimited that deep water is scared for me to swim in it
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| Primitive rappers get smacked when they happen to spit that
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| I’m the man who invented the seven can six pack
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| No mishap, I’m hacking you with the factual pickaxe
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| Got dispatched ten years after this rap that crafted this track
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| The euphoric impact is the same as when smokers eat crack
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| You list stats, my miscalculations are even exact
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| Though intact most of my creative faculties get jacked
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| Twisted acts like still leaning forward when I sit back
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| Can’t afford to try me 'cause these wars are highly contested
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| My bars probably leave sores on your body
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| Outdated as a tape deck but K can hear your statements a day ahead
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| So I can repeat what you didn’t say yet
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| Vibrant and erudite, my light wipes your internals of parasites
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| Each mics a million terabytes
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| Beat slicer for hire but they fired me in fact
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| 'Cause my raps kept giving tracks anxiety attacks
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| And you responding is a fun thing
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| 'cause I’m harder than placing two fingers in one ring
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| Swinging on sunbeams, I phonetically gun sling
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| Twenty K-Rino clones all playing on one team
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| The viscosity pops when its properties get hot
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| It hits spots on bodies and they somersault six blocks
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| I spin and twist plots like Serling and Hitchcock
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| My wristwatch shows pictures of victims when it stops
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| K-Rino's inner most state is so great
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| That even a slow rate I duplicate fingerprints and snowflakes
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| When I go for the title newborns know that it’s vital
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| Old people be rocking and moaning holding a Bible
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| Confessions of a soul arrester
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| A professor could teach lessons on one of my flows a whole semester
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| My tongue piece as sleek as a Dunnell
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| You see I got at least 300 deep tunnels that funnel through my pre-frontal
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| And each one will leak three bundles of sheets to leave an MC pummeled
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| I wasn’t off sick I made the beat stumble
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| Now they biting like bed bugs, words hit him like lead slugs
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| And left a gash bigger than his head was |