Lyrics Mural Jr. - Lupe Fiasco

Mural Jr.

Holy assumption of man into the heaven’s sphere
Many mansions fit champions within its seven tiers
Evangelists re-imagine every 11 years
Pause for applause, evolves to what was never here
Born to death, born to die
Form the flesh, form the eyes
A veritable storm of winged forms swarms the skies
Marital norms unperformed but the porn survives
In the dorms of the scorn, they keep warm supplies
Gone to lose the use of tooth, horn and thigh
Before I was standing, I was landing
Two one-hand, one-man bands jamming in tandem
He who power naps, then plans gathering ransoms
And maps man’s laps in a hand lathered in absinthe
Got a talent trafficking ramblings
And handing out amazing handmade maps of the labyrinth
Out the back of the wagon, out the back of the madam
Out the back of the Magnum, then out the trap of enchantment
Bellerophon with a megaphone, Mega Man
Desert zone, run marathons with sweaters on (sweaters on)
That was so simple but hot
In a place where it’s so simple but not
Closed temples and old little forgots
And rode whole chisels, cripples who won’t miss a salat
The old hoes that they won’t give you a shot
But you can get the whole pistol, it’s gon' hit you a lot
These are real words from a savage mind
Unmaximized man on an average climb
Who don’t deserve the whole truth and only half your time
Fit the life of a whole booth in only half a line
In the future life, I don’t even have to rhyme
We’ll get the entire Armageddon with only half the signs
Just yields and rail roads
In lush fields with bell tolls
Couple huddles of the unskilled but well told
It’s unreal how off one deal to sell souls
And he got 'em by the dozen
Medulla oblongata is what got them by the oven
Like how the moonshine is what got him by the cousin
He got her by the bottom and he 'bout to stick his tongue in
Such an unsettling scene
An obscene setting for the unwedding of rings
The sharpest dresser at the unheading of queens
The architecture is something you’ve never seen
Dream clean, that’s three words at the same time
And killed three birds with the same--
And won each and every hand with the same bluff and
Answers each and every man with the same question
What is it?
But you still wanna know but I already done did it
I ball heavy, the physics
It’s all, but it’s already specific
If we doing what’s already done, that means it’s already terrific
That’s rather meta-poetic, and just to acknowledge that
As an extra exhibit to what’s already within it
The galleries lack the wall space
So I made a gallery of galleries, made of all space
If it was more small, it would be Moore’s Law
From the land of the po' where we war, saw
From the hand of a pro to a whore jaw
Make her stand at the store 'til the snow thaw
Went from paper boy to editor
From throwing Ars Poetica with the arms of Federer
On the porches and steps to the farm houses of settlers
One of several sects who can come and charm the predators
We who measure the measuring tools of measurers
We who pleasure the pleasure tubes of pleasurers
We who lecture at treasured schools of lecturers
We who question the treasured rules of leveragers
Born to death, born to die
Mourn correct: immortalize
In a war, where your performance score is your salary
It’s like fantasies combating your mortality
I’m just trying to restore sanity
Sigmund Freud boy, Leroy to your Vanity
To instill what kills krill destroys manatee
So heels spill but still seal deals that build factories
What looks Roman senator inner reveals Maccabees
Never just trust off guts, but what’s actually
Unless it’s Kuato’s
Now, we back to pillars of salt, I recall back peeling potatoes
In hindsight, maybe attack of killer tomatoes
A seasoned shoulder’s carrying plenty Pentium payloads
Now, that’s another strata but I was making sense
Then cop out, took the highway and I was making chips
A nappy-head Karate Kid, I was breaking bricks
Can fight like Tekken 5, even taking 6
This rehabilitation, I be taking trips
«Don't Ruin Us» God said, I won’t make a dent
Hardly, but I’m still Harvey, I hope this making sense
Devil tooting his own horn, don’t come and take a sniff
In the streets you gotta fight, you get punished for taking whiffs
To make that change for your team, you gotta have New Jersey Drive and a
stomach for taking whips
I’m just trying to redeem
With these hands full of bars, don’t beat me for coming clean
To unify the hooks, if you know it, then come and sing
Don’t bust in while I’m asleep, nightmares who come in dreams
Samurais rarely die from another sword
This is 1985 meets the hover board
That was Bobby Johnson potato, just to underscore
Think deep, but don’t let it fry your motherboards
Diptych, so now them paintings plural, but this is Jr’s Mural