[Verse 1]
f** the blueprint, Hov named his album after my birth
I remain frank and in sense, they donate divine myrrh
Amusement park rappers wear fur, I wear fur and tote a chauffeur
Let off steam via roller flows liquidating puts them on coasters
Words stirring and the verdict is I kerb stomp
Curtain the slack who are axed, kicked, with antiques cause I heard Stomp
Me, Wallace and the rat pack, have one recurring occurrence
The word 'great/grate', and you rappers on a close shave to the cerebellum
These rappers try to prove that they're a man like Tyke Tiler
Their fire transcribed compiled by five more writers while im a compiler
Had a writer's block, chipped it off clean like Tiger Woods met Mike Myers
Now i'm the block's finest, an ace, no joker, an ogre, you a**es my sides
I'm sidereal, an imperial pioneer, raise rappers in my sky yard
Write rhymes in fine line, hard
To decipher, my cypher colder than the latitude I'll represent
Said I wanted numbers on the boards, but this ain't what I meant
[Break]
[Verse 2]
f** it continue, as I insist upon imposing impa**es
And hazards, simple rap actors backpack backwards, frantic
The heat increases like speeds and your illiteracy
But still critically your cross-referencing cross-examination now visions of me
Dropping conscious sh**, well here's some for ya
How many hors d'oeuvres and who*es before the aura is a hoarder?
How many aeronautical antics, before the dawn of aurora
Exploring, exploiting the clouds, a cumulonimbus?
Hard to storm, when impatience got the posh English impish
Because implementing afro centric business certifies your imprint
Instead of making lords leap like I shot em with a 9 on Christmas
Dismissed, though its laced with lyrics like ribbons upon my deftness
That's a messed up hierarchy, I'm stuck in the nether
Fools wanna revolt, but can't even spell 'Marx' or 'Mandela'
I've made my point, now Aeronautics is starting his ascent
Yeah I wanted numbers on the boards, but this ain't what I meant