The Straw

I don't preach teachers

I survive seizures and fill bleachers

Turn a broken glass world into mosaics of pretty girls

And cut my lips on the first kiss of the church mural

So now I leave emcees sea sick like the Tilt-A-Whirl

You don't rock like I rock

So don't try it

And you wouldn't like my CD

So don't buy it

'Cause I see the clowns you nod your head to

Ride around while you gobble down the products that they tell to you

Like first they turned you robot, now you vacuum

Suck, suck, success is achieving our goals

By focusing on core objectives and crushing the ball

I Pack Mad Symptoms you couldn't cure with Midol

And I don't brag or talk xxxx but now and then I go off

'Cause every time I had to swallow my pride and fall in line

I follow those same guys outside and make 'em 'pologize

With a lead pipe mic stand and a batter's box stance

I get more even than balanced equations in high math

Lyricist, imperialist

Area 51 escape artist

Optimist, prime, realist

State facts

Take that and run with it

Artificial artifacts in one's past

Make xxxxx rap for rich sales figures

Go and figure that

Mimic all the copycats

An beat dead horse for talking back

That means you

I'll hand-address a letter-bomb envelope

Put my first record in for good measure

Mail it, hope you get the joke

Send skill through subconscious isotopes

And signal smoke

Watch 'em try to rhyme along and xxxxxxx choke

I don't wanna work at Depot no more

9 to 5, 8 to 4

My apron's full of holes and torn

Helping people on the floor

Working for these xxxxxxx whores

They want J. Moore to go explore the back and be a janitor

I made ten dollars

The government kept three

Took my seven bucks, bought a second-hand CD

Another fifty cents sales tax on top of that

Got me digging in my car seat cracks

No wonder I'm strapped

Got some dude in my face and my boss on my back

Got so much on my mind I can't even rock a hat

I'm dreaming about pressing new vinyl

But instead I'm pushing floor tile

To these reptiles in the carpet aisle

Expecting me to smile like some clown

Til I cut 'em down so nasty they open X-Files on me

Indie rap, mainstream, alternative, underground

Call it what you wanna call it

Top is gonna hold it down

I found my album in the store in the rock n' roll section

And I'm still moving units out the front end

I got lyrics like Shakespeare and Morrisette had crazy sex

And she popped some freestylin' triplets

I bang the beats like a jackhammer operator

Kick drum holes in the street

Like moon craters

Ahead of my time with a prematurely aged mind

I drop the gloves when I'm on the mic and go for mine

I turn blank stares to highly animated individuals

Who stand up in the face of ridicule

Like, xxxxx you!"

Trash talk makes garbage records

What'd you ever say besides claiming you're the best at this?

Hype like the first time you touched a breast-a-sis

Your rap maturity is five grades behind the rest of us

My reputation for rhyming spreads like wildfire

Hit 'em like Andy Kaufman with a pile driver

Without the fake part

Cut 'em like Braveheart

Raise the bar so far they can't chin up

It's too hard

Now my cell phone is ringing

Getting paged on the intercom

People always yelling at me

Totally unnecessary

Wanna be the straw that breaks the camel's headset?

It's Russian roulette

So go ahead and get your day wrecked