[Verse: Epidemic]
If I don't set the pen aside it's genocide
There's no repentance, my sentences are the 7th sign
I get a sense you're on the fence of what perfection is
Am I compulsive-obsessive or a perfectionist
What's my direction, I mentioned what my objective is
It's common sense to a sensei, you apprentices
I came to terms & I learned what my imperfections is
I'm either possessive or I'm affectionless
I'm either impressive or what depression is
& I ain't getting defensive but my perspective is
f*ck the world at my discretion & for emphasis
Add a couple middle fingers in parentheses
& show no sympathy, simpletons trying to throw shots
For goodness sakes it's +in your face+, you're fake as +Botox+
Criticizing while they standing on a soapbox
You giving life to Michaelangelos & Mozarts
The Humphrey Bogart, a young soul with an old heart
Torn apart trying to keep afloat
My flow is Noah's ark
It's +complex+, say +Napoleon+ Bonaparte
I saute
Bon appetite, you n*ggas sweet
Artificially, sounding kind of salty when you speak
If you listening, I don't give a f*ck about critique
Or if you dissin me, what you think I barely read the comments
If I'm online, I'm probably j*rking off to be honest
So while we're being open with each other, let's acknowledge
If you hate me, it's probably cause you trying to push an artist
& he ain't me, angry hoping nobody notices
That I murdered their careers, my condolences