I Can't Rap

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Marx

Karl Marx (German: [maʁks]; 5 May 1818 – 14 March 1883) was a German-born philosopher, economist, political theorist, historian, sociologist, journalist, and revolutionary socialist. His best-known works are the 1848 pamphlet The Communist Manifesto (with Friedrich Engels) and the three-volume Das Kapital (1867–1894); the latter employs his theory of historical materialism in an analysis of capitalism, representing his greatest intellectual achievement. Marx's ideas, theories, and their subsequent development, collectively known as Marxism, have exerted enormous influence on modern intellectual, economic, and political history. Born in Trier in the Kingdom of Prussia, German Confederation, Marx studied at the universities of Bonn, Berlin, and Jena, and receiv… more »

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Yo they say I can't rap so why are my rhymes jampacked? 
Their houses get ransacked just to tax their tampax 
Lace 'em with anthrax you better stand back 
You can get your man clapped with your precious land snatched 
Suckers act like Marx is inexperienced on the mic 
Nah son, I been spitting rhymes all of my life 
I spent the last four years in practice rooms and venues 
My rhyme book's the Bible the stage a holy temple 
I'm pulling levers to destroy half steppers 
Their soft as feathers so I pull their limbs off, like lepers 
Tougher than leather, and exceptionally clever 
Nine seven till forever, unstoppable endeavour 
I'm a lifer however, we never expire 
Marx'll never retire I resonate through the entire 
World and I don't require to pass throw a portal 
This solidified in wax dun, truly immortal 

If words are weapons, then my vocabulary's an arsenal 
Fundamental particle, rhyme display's remarkable 
And Q-Tip asked me if I could kick it 
I told him call me Predator, 'cause yo I get wicked 
No need to wreck emcees with excalibur weaponry 
Force feed them ecstasy to attack 'em with telepathy 
Chop their flesh in three, that's the motherfuckin' chef in me 
Disrespecting me, no recipe, rest in peace 
Marx makes amazing rhymes excellently 
I murder microphones marvellous and intellectually 
Systematically dismantle 'em with mathematics 
They're weak as a crack addict 
Barely breathing like asthmatics 
And that's tragic 
I make magic out of habit 
Unbelievably lavish God, and never ever static 
I destroy tracks on cassette, CD and vinyl bitch 
In a shop full of watches, you still don't know what time it is 

I'm a maverick, making magic, wreaking havoc, graphic, classic 
Blast it way past eleven, rhyme display's caligraphic 
Massive tabs of acid, magnetic, flow attractive 
Practice makes fantastic, spinning records round an axis 
Don't focus on skills it's only what you're wearing 
So labels would sign me if I can my hair and 
My Mother keeps telling me I should stop swearing 
For airplay, but Mum I ain't caring 
Eeyare f*ck that! I just leave 'em to bug 
Continued custom comes back, it's something like a drug 
And when the radio don't play me and they show me no love 
I could give a flying f*ck like the Mile High Club 
I been blessed to chin check with finesse 
Artistic anatomy, amalgamate and coalesce 
When they thought I would slip, I was put to the test 
And I still drop bombs like Funkmaster Flex 
Rhymes laced with fact not fiction 
I can't is your depiction but you have no jurisdiction 
This is no prediction, big as the crucifixion 
But there was no such infliction, God it's such a contradiction 
Man look, you clearly just ain't got the knowledge 
I be spreading so much, shit they call me a college 
And I will put it in terms that even you can understand 
You can't recognise real, you just ain't a rap fan 
Peace

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