Song | Master Thesis |
Artist | Canibus |
Album | Miclub - The Curriculum |
作词 : Williams, Zangger | |
This is the master thesis, underneath the deepness, | |
Come to MicClub dot net where you can read this, | |
Run a plot on the map in hyperspatia, | |
From the Society for Scientific Exploration, | |
Color is vibration, vibration is sound, | |
Sound resonates thru the mouth - check it out, | |
what I say vibrates no less than 9 ways, | |
South, South-East, West, South-West, East, | |
North, North-East, North-West, | |
And black and white images fade to gray sound waves, | |
Trap my adversaries like a mouse in a maze, | |
With a bewildering array of lyrical display, | |
The best of Bis, orbitally rearranged, | |
Monoatomic elements with adept intelligence, | |
The highest professorship, my English etiquette, | |
Compels me to not say it if I can't spell it bitch, | |
My circularized third eye sees all, | |
Atlantis was surrounded by four seawalls, | |
I read one-fourth of the Library of Alexandria, | |
Before it was burnt to the floor, | |
I wish I could've learned more, | |
About the shapes of the sacred geometry they used to draw, | |
They were new millennium but Euclidian in form, | |
Ancient in many ways but not nearly as old, | |
Carved from Egyptian gold molded in Assyria, | |
With processed beryllium by the quintillion, | |
They cooked on symmetrical stoves with my logo, | |
Etched above the hole where they inserted the coal, | |
And they barbequed birds to the bone, | |
And they burned incense in a Buckminster Fuller type dome... | |
I talked to Mr. Fuller over the phone, | |
And he said he had a contract to rebuild Rome, | |
He said he didn't wanna' do it alone, | |
I told' em I was busy writin' poems but I'd think about goin', | |
The process was slow and the dough was low, | |
But I took it as the perfect opportunity to grow, | |
Plus I had never traveled that far from home, | |
But I heard about the beauty of Cydonian snow, | |
Neon-green grass, | |
Statues made from translucent glass, | |
I'd be crazy to pass, | |
I like Altarian Jazz, the blue twilight band | |
That plays tunes from a laser black sax, | |
It sounds so laid back, it helps me relax, | |
I bought the album after seeing K-PAX, | |
Oh how I miss my nautilus, | |
I was told pharyngoamygdalitis did not exist, | |
You have a modest case of scaphocephalous, | |
I'll prescribe some neo-gothic antibiotics, | |
With words concocted from the lyrical locksmith, | |
Deadly as 10 droplets of Ricin Toxin, | |
From every angle the competition gets boxed in, | |
As Dr. "C" indoctrinates his doctrine, | |
Translate the English alphabet to the omega text, | |
life is now but death is next, | |
Post bond out on bail from the belly of hell, | |
Communicate thru diatonic and pentatonic scales, | |
These darkside tales might affect sales, | |
I'll set sail hunt down erect sperm whales, | |
Use the aphrodisiac to get a female called ginger tie her up and drink her gingerale, | |
Grand Marnier for me - scotch on the rocks for you, | |
Your vocab is smaller than a cockatoos, | |
In the studio with James Lipton reminiscing | |
About the script that was written before the beginning, | |
All of a sudden the boos turn to applause, | |
My jaws stronger than a Kenenday Macaw, | |
Can't even count the bars I've expended so far, | |
I don't wanna' rap no more it's been sooo long, | |
I wish the clock would hurry up and tick, | |
I'm out in the bush and the sticks humpin' 100 klicks, | |
Dr. Scholls gave me a good fit, | |
Me and him went to school together back in 86, | |
When I was really ill, | |
Puttin' Planck energy in a rhyme the size of a tylenol pill, | |
You wanna' laugh now? and cast your belligerent doubt? | |
I show you what poetry's really about, | |
The side effects'll make you pass out | |
Followed by skin rash itching diarrhea nausea and dry mouth, | |
You want a time out? you better spit a rhyme out, | |
Before the community of real MC's die out, | |
College Students say to me "You ain't smart", | |
Record label A&Rs say "This ain't art", | |
These are the contents of the Covenant of the Ark, | |
Listen to my chest beat tell me this ain't heart, | |
You gotta be as obsequious as the disciples of Jesus, | |
This my Master Thesis |
zuò cí : Williams, Zangger | |
This is the master thesis, underneath the deepness, | |
Come to MicClub dot net where you can read this, | |
Run a plot on the map in hyperspatia, | |
From the Society for Scientific Exploration, | |
Color is vibration, vibration is sound, | |
Sound resonates thru the mouth check it out, | |
what I say vibrates no less than 9 ways, | |
South, SouthEast, West, SouthWest, East, | |
North, NorthEast, NorthWest, | |
And black and white images fade to gray sound waves, | |
Trap my adversaries like a mouse in a maze, | |
With a bewildering array of lyrical display, | |
The best of Bis, orbitally rearranged, | |
Monoatomic elements with adept intelligence, | |
The highest professorship, my English etiquette, | |
Compels me to not say it if I can' t spell it bitch, | |
My circularized third eye sees all, | |
Atlantis was surrounded by four seawalls, | |
I read onefourth of the Library of Alexandria, | |
Before it was burnt to the floor, | |
I wish I could' ve learned more, | |
About the shapes of the sacred geometry they used to draw, | |
They were new millennium but Euclidian in form, | |
Ancient in many ways but not nearly as old, | |
Carved from Egyptian gold molded in Assyria, | |
With processed beryllium by the quintillion, | |
They cooked on symmetrical stoves with my logo, | |
Etched above the hole where they inserted the coal, | |
And they barbequed birds to the bone, | |
And they burned incense in a Buckminster Fuller type dome... | |
I talked to Mr. Fuller over the phone, | |
And he said he had a contract to rebuild Rome, | |
He said he didn' t wanna' do it alone, | |
I told' em I was busy writin' poems but I' d think about goin', | |
The process was slow and the dough was low, | |
But I took it as the perfect opportunity to grow, | |
Plus I had never traveled that far from home, | |
But I heard about the beauty of Cydonian snow, | |
Neongreen grass, | |
Statues made from translucent glass, | |
I' d be crazy to pass, | |
I like Altarian Jazz, the blue twilight band | |
That plays tunes from a laser black sax, | |
It sounds so laid back, it helps me relax, | |
I bought the album after seeing KPAX, | |
Oh how I miss my nautilus, | |
I was told pharyngoamygdalitis did not exist, | |
You have a modest case of scaphocephalous, | |
I' ll prescribe some neogothic antibiotics, | |
With words concocted from the lyrical locksmith, | |
Deadly as 10 droplets of Ricin Toxin, | |
From every angle the competition gets boxed in, | |
As Dr. " C" indoctrinates his doctrine, | |
Translate the English alphabet to the omega text, | |
life is now but death is next, | |
Post bond out on bail from the belly of hell, | |
Communicate thru diatonic and pentatonic scales, | |
These darkside tales might affect sales, | |
I' ll set sail hunt down erect sperm whales, | |
Use the aphrodisiac to get a female called ginger tie her up and drink her gingerale, | |
Grand Marnier for me scotch on the rocks for you, | |
Your vocab is smaller than a cockatoos, | |
In the studio with James Lipton reminiscing | |
About the script that was written before the beginning, | |
All of a sudden the boos turn to applause, | |
My jaws stronger than a Kenenday Macaw, | |
Can' t even count the bars I' ve expended so far, | |
I don' t wanna' rap no more it' s been sooo long, | |
I wish the clock would hurry up and tick, | |
I' m out in the bush and the sticks humpin' 100 klicks, | |
Dr. Scholls gave me a good fit, | |
Me and him went to school together back in 86, | |
When I was really ill, | |
Puttin' Planck energy in a rhyme the size of a tylenol pill, | |
You wanna' laugh now? and cast your belligerent doubt? | |
I show you what poetry' s really about, | |
The side effects' ll make you pass out | |
Followed by skin rash itching diarrhea nausea and dry mouth, | |
You want a time out? you better spit a rhyme out, | |
Before the community of real MC' s die out, | |
College Students say to me " You ain' t smart", | |
Record label A Rs say " This ain' t art", | |
These are the contents of the Covenant of the Ark, | |
Listen to my chest beat tell me this ain' t heart, | |
You gotta be as obsequious as the disciples of Jesus, | |
This my Master Thesis |