Lyrics of 'Ecdysis' by Shing02

The color-blind application for hiphop admission
is as naive and problematic as affirmative action
So come as you are to shed to skin to shed light,
To the four corners of the world so the story can be told
Sold! To the highest bidder of your own soul
Hold! The wine is bitter if you ain't at your goal
So, is the epidermis the permit to perform
or does a hermit have a chance to earn it?
At minimum wage turning into maximum rage
The artists better pave the ways 'cause nowadays,
Playboy Hustlers living in a Penthouse High Society fantasy
Don't you realize that it's so painful for a hiphop fan to see
Their favorite MC stoop down to the level of
"these are few of my favorite things" (Material things only come from your dreams!)
So now how come we don't like the music that we select?
How come we don't like the Presidents we elect?
Mentally sick figures talking about six figures, with no artistic skill like stick figures?
Superstitious blind artists better take the "T" out
now you've got Seven Wonders to solve before you plunder
never underestimate the price of unseen underground real estate intellectual property
when a metamorph metaphor kicked properly
A sharp pen is mightier than guns, mags radio and video collective mediocre media
By a standard deviation from the average lyrical leverage sound found in the spectrum
Respect from the kids is all want as a rapport
So Fuck a deadbeat MC with no juvenile support!

(Chorus)
It's the pure lyricist, what is this?
An Ecdysis, ghost writer exorcist
Pure lyricist, the Ecdysis
(I'm already on fire but I wanna explode!)

It's the true lyricist, what is this?
An Ecdysis, ghost writer exorcist
True lyricist, the Ecdysis
(I'm already on fire but I wanna explode!)

And still, my chances of making it
is like stepping into a room with a 10:1 guy to girl ratio and getting a filatio,
Live oral exercise is what I give back, 'cause I will rock the mic
As long as there's a last man standing ovation, that's me
Pure lyrical innovation, pass me the clutchie with the game clock ticking
'cause I'll be sure to sink the dish and leave MCs chopsticking
At a clean plate, clean slate state of mind
Definitions refined and redefined over times by the stroke of a genius, like Michaelangelo
The mic will challenge those simplistic self-portraits
You know there's nothing sacred about the loop de jour
'cause your skills cannot serve justice to illustrate just this
Not everybody has to be in between Gospel and Marilyn Manson so what the Hell are you sayin'?
heavy metallic tape content strictly high bias
so God, buy us some time in this Age where false prophets
preach reality like bestiality of cloned sheep, copying the fake fur
subject matter: idle chatter, so whenever did you switch from T&A to DNA?
Under the melanin, pigment of my skin, segment sample
The color of blood is all the same crimson, ask Mr. Simpson I'm a hemoglobe trotter
Carrying fresh oxygen supply through offensive lines to apply
word of mouth to mouth resuscitation of this art of MC, Esher, performing under pressure
Lesser MCs can test who's really fresher blind-folded
('cause there's too many hiphop viewers and not enough listeners!)
What you now hear is what you most fear, the penetration of your atmosphere
By invisible bombarding harmful particles
Lombarding twisted path MCs all fall down hill like an Olympic tumble
and the Five Rings on you fingers are not gonna save you!
But my natural skin, offers perfect protection from ultra-violet rays and ultra-violent days
So if you ever think you can find a chink in my armor
You can hate me from your guts like Japs at Pearl Harbor!!

(Chorus)

From a caterpillar, to a chrysalis, to a butterfly in the stomach of the beast
I drink insecticide to wreck the west side, I come from the far east