The Golden Ratio

from by Cell

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Seed, never leech when you're giving to the streets though. Free a beat and see all types of people.

I'm the fresh dressed guest
with some cursive on my chest.
I do this with respect
for dudes like Mos Def.
I ain't no veteran act,
I know better then that,
I just laugh
when these other cats
claim they can rap.
Boy you soft as a feather
I'm as sharp as a tack,
and in fact I rap
with winds gusts at my back.
It's Cell,
the curious confessor of the youth,
a professor,
spitting nectar,
out all angles of the booth.
And the truth is,
I float like cupid.
Your shit is useless,
until you prove it.
What are you stupid?
See the Earth? Move it.
See your turf? Lose it.
Like a smurf,
crawling out your bruises.
I chill in reality,
but in actuality,
through trees,
I see,
that you live inside a fallacy.
Oh shit, who's Cell?
He's from another galaxy.
I never heard a beat like this before dog,
he has to be.
All these hair weaves are making me dry heave,
I'm flowing like Owen
I'm growing like New Leaves.
I lay low,
like a loaded gun in your home.
This disk will raise interest
like a student loan.
I'm fully grown,
and much more mature than before.
Leaving MC's sore
because I'm filling every pore
with pimples and cysts.
It's really as simple as this,
let me insist,
you stay until class is dismissed.
I keep adding to my list,
of books, films, and scripts.
I know it's hard to come to grips,
with the cellular eclipse.

I bleed words like a poet with his wrists slit,
pass it like a blunt around,
no one can miss this.
Homie's in the back like, "Yo, he's classic."
Honey's in the front like, "He's hot, pass it."
"Hey, it's on fire dog, maybe I should Ash it."
Here's your mic dude,
sorry that I trashed it.
Let me place a bet
that I'll leave you with your seat wet.
Fuck the Freemasons,
I'm the best kept secret.
Learn to skim the radio dog,
no presets.
I got the king
that you're missing from your chess set.
Black with sugar
in my coffee like an Aztec.
Nice in rap
and I haven't passed a test yet.
Arrested Development,
your shits only relative,
my shits always relevant,
come on dude it's evident.
Here, I got the evidence,
my will is imperative.
Maybe you were Never Meant.
Your lyrics are kind cold,
let me put them in the toaster.
You fleece cheap beats
like a post-it note coaster.
Playing Xbox,
using thoughts,
no controller.
Flow be golden,
got it rolling,
like a boulder.
You think I'm hot now?
Check when I'm older.
My shit's game changing,
separate it like a folder.
Not making sense like the state of Arizona.
Wise-ass younging dressed in green,
callme Yoda.


from Watch Your Language Demo, track released June 3, 2010



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