The Constructus Corporation - Metatron One lyrics

So uh... Who's your target market here? Ummm... b**hes. Hard hitting When I step to the mic and start spitting Freaking motherf**ers like some s**ers getting freaked by the preacher man doing god's bidding Cry to the angels The stars explode tonight Metatron one I been known to get the job done We on some intricate, intimate, innocent, infinite, inner-sh** If we start something we finish it, our ability is unlimited Isn't it, oh yes I can process no less than a thousand thoughts Every one-tenth of a second You still sitting on a see-saw Our alien tech makes your g4 seem slow like Eeyore You teach your computer to rap, I got light raining on my brain Check these heads glued to the track all the night waiting for the train My water-soluble, molly-coddled molecules submerge themselves deep inside a sea of post-imaginative psyche Where matter doesn't matter then I materialize and come crashing into your sphere With a nice, juicy tongue-lashing for your ear Metatron one I been known to get the job done We enjoy an electronic, symbiotic existence between here and Avalon While you babble on about Babylon always trying to get the battle on Our little green lanterns illuminate a very, very vast sea We see patterns mentally mutilated people can't see The lyrical spell-caster Strapped with a fully stacked mystical, biblical hell-blaster You mystified by the cyto while my ectoplasm is a much darker texture As I reflect the effects of this evil architecture Stunting our expansion, so I'm making sure that you feel this Like a man-made phantom, psychosomatic illness Only difference is this sh** is as terminal as bad timing Keep refining your vertical alignment till you reach my island Metatron one I been known to get the job done There's no such thing as out of bounds The d**h-walkers moving in and out of realms, electro-magnetic shields up We always on-line, even when we catching shut-eye Unfazed by restrictions inflicted by days gone by I sit still as cast iron, watching my star-shine, exhaling for the last time Deciphering ethereal material from imperial archives Permanently upgrading my temporary hard-drive The agents of the dark-side can't hide Plus their voodoo can't find anyway to penetrate these calm minds Like some self-imposed metaphysical apartheid At the end of the day this beautifully maintained body's not mine That's why I step to the mic and rock like I just dropped by Metatron one I been known to get the job done