Antennas - MC Paul Barman, Masta Ace

This animal style is like an annual trial

Trying to turn state’s evidence with a manual dial, that’s hard

Now zoom in and tune in to my frequency

Steppin' to the AM and slam 'em all in secrecy

My sound waves go deeper than underground caves

Pitchin' in Atlanta, you know I’m mowin' down braves

Don’t be a hero 'cause yo, that’s a sandwich, man

Crazy plans in my land, you’ll get banished man

Try me on, impeach

Find me on the beach

Grimy on the speech

Just like an old Spanish man

«Maricón,» you can’t be me like a body clone

In the hoods where I kick it like Karate Tone

This man spit right in the face of what you transmit

Holding on to relevance, hoping that your hands slip

And you fall into obscurity

Walkie talkie antennas with no security, praying mantis

You really ought to weigh your chances

This yellow brick road stay stormy like a day in Kansas

And then another twister touch

Yo, I’m on a roll like I twist the Dutch

I’m on a roll like I twist the Dutch

I’m on a roll

But I don’t smoke though, nah

We’re all one, just different lumps of protoplasm

Every moment of joy counts as a bonus 'gasm

Each pore is an ear, from the shore to the skier

The core of the tear is the doorway to the here and now

We’re an owl

I’m an orphan in Syria, I’m a more fortunate peer

A warm tent appears near the torment and fear

Our origin is clear, we’re the source of the seer

I’m a self in sheep’s clothing, a wealth of cheap loathing

Knowing nothing full well, compelled to keep going

Come for the wordplay, stay for the high voice

Return for the rhythms, move in with 'em by choice

If you didn’t like me on other beats, you’ll love me on this one

I didn’t change anything, repeat yourself, it’s fun

Kids' friends think I’m deeply flawed

And if I fix ten things, ten more will keep me odd

We feel conflicting agendas rise and fall

What we call our identity tries to synthesize them all

But there’s another option

Wise guys and dolls can watch them go by like flies on the wall

The Cindy mole is wabi sabi

The indie goal is job as hobby

Don’t hyperfocus on your diaper crocus

Just change your drawers and wipe your tochus

Beliefs are the police of the mind, chiefly designed to relieve us of our

fiefdoms of time resigned

«Said no one ever,» said no one ever

Every text from my father was meant for my brother

I believe that we will win

Me and grief, my evil twin

My third ventricle got blocked

But word tentacles could not stop so energy clogged, overheated, and hotboxed

So I pictured galaxies and reached out to Cathy’s anchor

And it yanked me to Earth’s surface, thanked her

I’m not doing a Patreon just to find another format for you people to hate me on

I’m from the flirtatious Cretaceous era

Back when we asked girls on dates and faced the terror

But I’ll leave the bitchin' and moanin' to the rich Roman old men

Young cats make dope raps, don’t act like there’s a glitch in the moment