An Encyclopedia

Milo

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    What is that? What is this? What is this? Huh?
    This is an encyclopedia containing the Latin names of the ugliest parts of my insides
    I'm choosing to use it like a compass in times of peril
    No one taught me the language of rap song, I was born speaking it
    My last name means blacksmith, and yours?
    Oh, yeah, I'm not a scofflaw either
    Born from the racial tensions between nigga rigs and Macgyvers
    The difference between quantum leap and sliders
    That is if you have an eye for
    The mid-nineties Sci-Fi sitcom
    Used to listen to Myka 9 rip songs
    And think Gee mom, this seems strong, good
    Rap song writing, qua black art aspiring
    Now I only write in green ink like Matrix code
    Peace to the Wahoo Monastery

    My destiny is to write four bars
    In black licorice
    Convert that to one stack
    Then set out to redefine the term nigga rich
    I'm very hungry
    Done asking for table scrapplings
    From neighbors who live just above me
    Trapping seems in the vein of hunting
    I abstain from only the one thing
    I'm so sorry, how could I be so clumsy
    To thrust you inside a language game
    Without affording the proper trumpeting?
    Might make a beat from machete metal clang
    I mastered the yeti ghetto slang
    Like nicknames of nimble and tip of nipple metal fangs
    Milo last seen with a poor sport with more ass
    Got a passport to import more for the war stash
    Short leash, long lash
    Long Beach with bombast
    I palm palm trees in my thought path
    This is a mason jar containing a last laugh
    (Laughter)
    It isn't at all clear to me why I should be alive
    Kenny Segal's drums are not quantized
    And presently that gives me purpose
    I know it's worthless and worthwhile
    And how to build a fortress
    And I've always known
    And then he opened his mouth so wide all his teeth were showing
    Rows, pews, banquet halls of teeth, and he goes
    I've got this one song, it sounds like
    I've got this one song, it sounds like

    People of color coloring (ad-libbed several times)
    (Hey! You can't do that!)
    People of color coloring (ad-libbed)

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    Today they shook me down to my core
    It's nigga killer galore out there
    The truth is a golden rectangle I tried to swallow
    Look at the mouth tears, my nigga
    I'm really out there
    All five fifths of my personage
    What kind of burden could be worse than this?
    How can I carry all these dead people of color?
    All these black and brown and yellow bodies
    Darrien Hunt cosplaying was killed for his hobbies
    And I love Mugen too
    And that's the thing
    I love Mugen too
    They gave us Mavis Beacon and slavish deacons
    Who predicate upon
    Who pontificate upon
    Who conversate upon
    But never hand-grenade a palm
    They find refuge muttering
    The patriarchy is on auto-pilot
    With prayer beads and solemnity
    We, Urban Outfitters, would like to make a t-shirt
    Out of your just-born soliloquy

    People of color coloring (ad-libbed several times)
    (Hey! You can't do that!)
    People of color coloring (ad-libbed)

    And the raw amount of psychic data that I fail to process
    Staring at Cinnamon Toast Crunch boxes
    And the raw amount of psychic data that I fail to process
    Staring at Cinnamon Toast Crunch boxes

    People of color coloring (ad-libbed several times)
    (HEY! You can't do that!)
    People of color coloring (ad-libbed)

    This is an encyclopedia containing the Latin names
    Of the ugliest parts of my insides
    I'm choosing to use it like a compass in times of peril
    No one taught me the language of black man, I was born speaking it
    My last name means blacksmith, and yours?

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