Mural Jr. - Lupe Fiasco

Holy assumption of man into the heaven’s sphere

Many mansions fit champions within its seven tiers

Evangelists re-imagine every 11 years

Pause for applause, evolves to what was never here

Born to death, born to die

Form the flesh, form the eyes

A veritable storm of winged forms swarms the skies

Marital norms unperformed but the porn survives

In the dorms of the scorn, they keep warm supplies

Gone to lose the use of tooth, horn and thigh

Before I was standing, I was landing

Two one-hand, one-man bands jamming in tandem

He who power naps, then plans gathering ransoms

And maps man’s laps in a hand lathered in absinthe

Got a talent trafficking ramblings

And handing out amazing handmade maps of the labyrinth

Out the back of the wagon, out the back of the madam

Out the back of the Magnum, then out the trap of enchantment

Bellerophon with a megaphone, Mega Man

Desert zone, run marathons with sweaters on (sweaters on)

That was so simple but hot

In a place where it’s so simple but not

Closed temples and old little forgots

And rode whole chisels, cripples who won’t miss a salat

The old hoes that they won’t give you a shot

But you can get the whole pistol, it’s gon' hit you a lot

These are real words from a savage mind

Unmaximized man on an average climb

Who don’t deserve the whole truth and only half your time

Fit the life of a whole booth in only half a line

In the future life, I don’t even have to rhyme

We’ll get the entire Armageddon with only half the signs

Just yields and rail roads

In lush fields with bell tolls

Couple huddles of the unskilled but well told

It’s unreal how off one deal to sell souls

And he got 'em by the dozen

Medulla oblongata is what got them by the oven

Like how the moonshine is what got him by the cousin

He got her by the bottom and he 'bout to stick his tongue in

Such an unsettling scene

An obscene setting for the unwedding of rings

The sharpest dresser at the unheading of queens

The architecture is something you’ve never seen

Dream clean, that’s three words at the same time

And killed three birds with the same--

And won each and every hand with the same bluff and

Answers each and every man with the same question

What is it?

But you still wanna know but I already done did it

I ball heavy, the physics

It’s all, but it’s already specific

If we doing what’s already done, that means it’s already terrific

That’s rather meta-poetic, and just to acknowledge that

As an extra exhibit to what’s already within it

The galleries lack the wall space

So I made a gallery of galleries, made of all space

If it was more small, it would be Moore’s Law

From the land of the po' where we war, saw

From the hand of a pro to a whore jaw

Make her stand at the store 'til the snow thaw

Went from paper boy to editor

From throwing Ars Poetica with the arms of Federer

On the porches and steps to the farm houses of settlers

One of several sects who can come and charm the predators

We who measure the measuring tools of measurers

We who pleasure the pleasure tubes of pleasurers

We who lecture at treasured schools of lecturers

We who question the treasured rules of leveragers

Born to death, born to die

Mourn correct: immortalize

In a war, where your performance score is your salary

It’s like fantasies combating your mortality

I’m just trying to restore sanity

Sigmund Freud boy, Leroy to your Vanity

To instill what kills krill destroys manatee

So heels spill but still seal deals that build factories

What looks Roman senator inner reveals Maccabees

Never just trust off guts, but what’s actually

Unless it’s Kuato’s

Now, we back to pillars of salt, I recall back peeling potatoes

In hindsight, maybe attack of killer tomatoes

A seasoned shoulder’s carrying plenty Pentium payloads

Now, that’s another strata but I was making sense

Then cop out, took the highway and I was making chips

A nappy-head Karate Kid, I was breaking bricks

Can fight like Tekken 5, even taking 6

This rehabilitation, I be taking trips

«Don't Ruin Us» God said, I won’t make a dent

Hardly, but I’m still Harvey, I hope this making sense

Devil tooting his own horn, don’t come and take a sniff

In the streets you gotta fight, you get punished for taking whiffs

To make that change for your team, you gotta have New Jersey Drive and a

stomach for taking whips

I’m just trying to redeem

With these hands full of bars, don’t beat me for coming clean

To unify the hooks, if you know it, then come and sing

Don’t bust in while I’m asleep, nightmares who come in dreams

Samurais rarely die from another sword

This is 1985 meets the hover board

That was Bobby Johnson potato, just to underscore

Think deep, but don’t let it fry your motherboards

Diptych, so now them paintings plural, but this is Jr’s Mural