Blew up by myself, like a suicide bomber,
Puri-sama comin' at you with that melodrama,
I spit enlightenment, call me Gautama.
I swing like a pendulum or a kendama.
Droppin' bombs on the track, just like Osama,
Changin' things up, like I was Obama.
You might be subjected to major head trauma,
I make a two-humped camel turn into a dromedary,
Kick your derrière, and teach you a lesson,
And hit you with my lyrical Smith and Wesson.
I'm unpredictable, so keep on guessin',
Lame rhymes are the issue that I'm addressin'.
I keep on impressin', always be progressin',
I'm insanely ill, man, without any question.
Mainstream be suppressin' the truth I'm expressin',
The art of no lies is what I be professin'.
All killer, no filler, all skills and no frills.
The lyrical thriller be givin' you chills.
I be decryin' society's ills,
Even though I'm too young to pay the bills.
It's time to ignite for my flight to the height
Of my ability to recite the rhymes that I write.
You probably have nothing on Purianite,
'Cause your rhymes might be trite, and that just isn't right.
I, the nerd, am the word, not the bird, that's absurd.
Honestly, I can't say I care what you heard.
People say they spit game when they only spit turd.
Their speech is slurred, and their worldview is blurred.
Better late than never, it had to be done.
Verse on the Klassic Cypher? Had to do one.
Whenever I spit, I come sharp like a knife,
Best believe that I'll be nerdcore for life.