SA-ROC: Frankincense and Myrrh Produced by: Sol Messiah

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www.sarocthemc.com
Ask me when I passed the point of caring-I don’t know. Ask me if I’ve passed the point of praying-out of hope. Ask me- never mind I’m actually out of answers the last thing I need is antsy opportunists crawling down my throat. It’s official, this is war I’m coming for every camp. Making memories from the spoils of summer, you better recant. You’ll never be the greatest, while I am still animated, I’m Vader, the dark side of me you wish that you’d never met. Let me level with you. I wont settle til there’s nothing left. mess with your cerebellum til you’re broken, a blubbering mess. I’m martin Luther King ave with a dash of Marrakech, I’ll be civil write your tribute then dispatch you in the desert. I’m a natural with this rap shit, only relax my accent, only English I’m using is fractured, I smash vernacular, into pieces that cut u deeply into your vascular, now ask me if I’m enjoying the massacre. I don’t know.
I can’t know it all, I’m just a poet, dawg, I’m trying to make some rhyme or reason out the protocol. They wanna say it’s not the season for real Mcs, I believe it every time My name spring up, they wanna see me fall. And all these coppers wanna see me in a body bag. And paparazzi tell the tv I’m a scallywag. Cuz I’m the last of the Mohicans and these bastards can’t compete so they keep trying to relieve me of my native swag. Look I’m the Roc and these suckas made of glass, I throw a molotov and wait around for the blast. A head full of marleys and a pocket full of palo, got a posse that can hardly wait to plop u in your casket. Cuz I’m at peace that don’t mean That I am a pacifist. Keep me in the trap and you expect me to get past this. The FCC won’t let me be cuz I keep screaming FTP, I bet u this one never make it to the masses. I don’t know.
I know, I’m the prototype. But I’m too real for y’all to handle, so you promote hype. That shit is temporary, yo them cats is fly by night, I’m making figure eights around them on my motorbike. Overbite, 3 squares then eat these rappers food, what your quota like? I’m gon DOA your DNA that’s just the code of life. Recombine the simplest lines with ether, fire and holy rites, then introduce the coldest kind of lyricism-polar ice. 
They know I’m nice but they won’t admit it still. I’ll chop chop dice your rhymes and throw em on the grill. This Lost tribe like Shabazz, whole crew is El, you do yours for MTV and I do mine for Emmett Till, Patna. I’m Petey Parker, superhero of these language arts. Outside the fringe, pulled at your hymns until they came apart. You thought that plastic would outlast these precious metal bars, then let me educate you, nah. You already know.