[Off Topic:]

Stop the presses

This newsflash photography has captured translations from my autobiography

January twenty-fourth, nineteen seventy nine

During a snowstorm, avalanche, otherwise nice time

They cut the lifeline

I must not be God's son because I cried

And every time they try to crucify me I survive

And everything I do's infectious

Despite the use of several contraceptives

White blood cell immune systems of humans prove useless

Slip under microscope detection

And x-ray testing

I am hip-hop, rock, intelligent

Since you like to categorize music

I make a difference while they make lists

Everybody's favorite top one hundred slit wrists

The artists' pick

Classic edition DVD double-disc

My paragraphs surpass cash rap

Beyond white and black

Higher than the sky reaches

Deeper than an acid trip thesis

I'm an egg, hard-boiled

So I don't need my shell

Because it's merely cosmetic

And I'm not show-and-tell

I'm a real-life emcee, nasty as hell

Because I'm not scared to work and I'm not scared to fail

So spare all the talk about principals

When decibels are raised to raise capital

And few artists are actually factual

I'll tell them straight out, I'm South Jersey

Most of the country can relate to me

Which fills a great vacancy of young Americans that basically

Have no identities

Because anything less than success by financial stability

Means you spent your life on someone else's dreams

And everybody knows what that means

Mass suicide of senior citizens

Who want to do it all again and talk about how they'd do it differently

I'm taking rap to my new place, who's coming with me?



[Chorus: Off Topic]

Off Topic's autoautopsy file

Cause of death classified

Still holding the pill bottle

Chemical levels don't match the lab tests

So I had to grab the scalpel and cut my own chest

Off Topic's autoautopsy file

Cause of death classified

Still holding the pill bottle

I don't know what y'all heard about my death

But I'm holding the hour glass up like, "Who's next?"



[Off Topic:]

Yo, I'm two thousand levels above these rap thugs

Who claim they're street tough

But shake they ass like a lightning bug

And blew up

Like a plastic rap explosive

Pick your money up, front

You can't rhyme on my cut

I'm changing rappers' perspectives

With E-D-Kollective

And a crew of emcees that rhyme better than ya

I've had enough negative flows that everybody knows

Every word but they're written by a three-year-old

I Bic 'em with a pen, not a razor

'Cause I'd rather deface paper

Than face allegations and surrender

But my rights are under attack from The Right

Who think they're right, so I gotta watch what I write

Yeah right, I'm taking life

'Til there's only one left

Catch my breathe, it infects the immune

Coming soon to a town near you

I peak the interest of a special interest group

They talk so holy, but all they want is recruits

It's so phony, like the fancy suits

I see through the polyester image and expose the Swastika tattoos

And constitutional re-writes that we fight and lose

That's why I do what I do

I can expose the truth and mass-broadcast my views to the youth

I'm Off Topic 'cause I'm steadily fresh

I'm a blade of grass, watch me get cut at the chest

And grow back smarter than the key to the test

Stronger than emotions clouding me and  got me depressed



[Chorus]