Lyrics Sumthin' to Prove - Monsta Island Czars, Rodan

Sumthin' to Prove

: This is a special broadcast.
Rodan has suddenly attacked.
It’s Rodan.
The attack started at 11 o’clock, and now he has destroyed everything in the
city.
Leaders have called out their defenses.
There’s no doubt that this is the
same Rodan who comes from Monster Island
: What’s gone wrong with him?!?
Yo, fuck the intro
Yo, keep crowds hailing me like a taxi, learned there’s more to life
Than busting gats, B. How the fuck you gonna blast?
You ass
Like Andy Kaufman reading from the Great Gatsby
Relax, G, get gassed up or let your lungs collapse, B
Collect more gross income ‘cause my galactic rap status is
Tax-free.
Wile E. Coyote rhymers copped your wack raps
From the factory at ACME—just the facts, B
Urban dragnet, supreme architects serving dialect
Bell curve side effect, Caucus Asian, latter years
Coconut, almond, spiced Bacardi Dark, no taste for
Flatter beers.
Fronting with your mouth open, let me empty out
My bladder here.
Blowing like Jon Faddis, atomic air
Traffic blacking out your stratosphere.
Off the top of the locker
Cleats on the mic, kicking flows, balling like soccer
Slow niggas rambling on and on incoherently
Like Chewbacca, used to be on the block corner, snow rock
Betty Crocker, chrome showing, dome glowing, blowing
Jewels growing out the side of my crown chakra
You’re a killer gorilla or a babbling baboon?
Part-time
Wack-rhyming, no-bottom-line, circus-rapping buffoon
On some pop shit like a balloon, carry out paper quest
To stay fresh, stuck in a gay lifestyle, switching
Like Mae West.
Wise winds from the East squeezing at
The Beast and stray West, gods locked down do the science and let
The day bless.
In jail, ain’t nothing to do but work out
Jerk off, go to war, or play chess—what's your degree?
Cop a plea, change your story like the weatherman?
Whatever
Man, you ain’t fly like Rodan, you fly like Peter Pan
In Never Never Land.
Move mountains in telekinetic mode
Escape the straight and narrow, floating over your pathetic road
Rhymes written in genetic codes, Flightpope Ro' perched
Atop Five Pillars of Hip Hop, aesthetic soul.
Come on
That’s bad, man!
That is bad, bad, bad!
He ain’t never done, that been never
done on a record before.
That’s bad, brother!
That is bad.
Believe me,
believe me
Ayyo, peace while I rest on this
Pigeon whose back I’m digging.
‘Til Judgment Day, I’ll be my own Lord
Self-Preservation be my religion, fly in the fastest
Lane chosen, wings protected like safe sex in a la-
-tex Trojan.
Skiing uptown’ll leave your brain frozen
Gat explosion leave warm blood flowing
Internal organs exposing correlation to the cosmos
Urban legends up the block, street theologians
Headline a bill, throw a jewel at your grill, blackened steel
Bring the heat like military fire drills, drop a
Bombshell for real, units move half a mill, with or without
A record deal, still give these crab industry, En Vogue
Motherfuckers «Something They Could Feel,» aviator wristwear
Elevated textiles, imported Timberlands from
Switzerland scuffing up your reptiles.
Niggas ain’t my son
Gods treat you like a stepchild, take your booty
Wack sex style, flush it in the cess pile.
Mara-
-thon lyrics, corny critics can’t run the next mile
Abandoned outcasts in exile, never seen again
Tossed or lost into the X-Files.
Sold Luther that 9
Milli luger, attack the mic like a cougar geeked up
Got phony thugs scared to speak up, make a nigga
Balls freeze up, lay parallel to concrete, spraying
Caps, tearing your knees up.
2000 years
We’ll reappear, change the Earth in worldly ways
Ancient of days, come to show the blind God in the form of a man
That is worthy of praise, investigate doctrines
High awareness through my lifetime, social issues that incite
Crimes, make a generation of scholars live existence
Between the white lines—no more sniffing, saying
«Fuck a 9 to 5.»
Now all I do is fucking write rhymes
DJs scratch the wax like shaved balls, rabblerouse
The popped dog like rebel slave calls, navigate
The southern state like maze halls, chain, shining medallion
Swinging like stalactites on cave walls
Bounce the rhythm like a tambourine, step up on the scene
With a monster theme and a third world dream, impale bubblegum
Rap stars on microphones infected with gangrene
Deconstruct contemporary pop culture to reinvent my own
Mainstream.
Come on
Yeah, brother!
I tell you, brotherman!
What you got there?
You know what?
We got a thing.
You know what?
Yo, my name was Rodan
Before the wack Godzilla blockbuster, my name was Rodan
Before stellar dust collected into the first star cluster
Set up shop at the pearly gates, move an ounce while defending ‘em
Cherubim on the mic, lyrically descended from Big Daddy
Kane and Rakim and ‘em.
Golden Age legacy platinum writer
Of a new era, second millennium, triple CD blazing
Up like three flavors of tropical weeds when you’re blending ‘em
Connect ghetto slums to heavens, turn opposites to synonyms
Bend grammar like antimatter, distort the space-time-
-rhyme continuum, Five Percent rhetorical
Prophecies like an oracle, bad luck to emcees like a Kennedy
Reach across infinity, reestablish my divinity
Between me and the eternally great enmity
Imagine a natural-born enemy befriending me
Offending me with what you pretend to be.
How the fuck you a killer
With blatant homosexual tendencies?
Come on
That is unbelievable.
That is unbelievable, man.
Dagnabbit, that’s bad there!
That’s sure ‘nough bad there, bro!
You walked into that one, brother.
Yo, I went through the zone, man, that’s it!
That’s all I’ve done.
Now that’s what’s happening!
Freeze!"