Song parody of
History Book
by James Wier
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History book, I'll make it in it, there's no debating I'll get it
Either way you flip it, no different, like I'm civic
TN to Mississippi they'll listen, know I'm built different
But you don't have to be Genius to deconstruct my writtens
Kicks make you want more and the melodies suck you in this
Kicking down your door with the precision of a hitman
Abundant presence of mic presence you'd think it's Christmas
But I got all the gifts I need, throwing out my wishlist
(Yeah, the entertainer's here!)
The entertainment, made it in my basement
Well, actually the bedroom, but that don't really change it
Change my fit if it don't fit the feeling that I'm aiming for
Okay you still want more? Okay I'll give it to you
Fighting with music, settle the score
More points on the board than index fingers teaching a horde of kids
Bored kids who'd rather snore than work
How does it feel to get shot by the track blaster
Master of his craft, vernacular stacked like racks
He's back backflipping through cash and tracks
He's burning, you feel the ash as you pass past the last place the beat paused, stopped In it's tracks
Deer in the headlights, I dare you to question, dear, my music and rhymes
Sleep on me, you ZZ Top on gold mines
Pen game colorful, a Rap Genius, better Check the Rhyme
Yeah keep sleeping on me kid, it's past your bedtime
I'm a
Magical mystery Tour de force
My pen and pad, never divorced
Or forced to do more, encore
on par, with yours
Life is a history book of chords and mics, MCs of life
Human rights are quelled by wrongs
That makes plight, plight makes songs
Then I
Grapple with this enormous form of horror
Called a port where poor workers work for porridge
gargantuan corporate, snores, it's messed up
I'm gonna move forward towards my goals and net
It's messy, still don't test me
Blessed to bless fiends for music
With grooves and tunes no resting
Yeah, no rest days
Go on, grind never ending
Soon I'll have a bag so big my grocer would be jealous
Soon I'll have more commas then a run-on sentence
Either way you flip it, this lyric will start and end it
Sentences are endless, my friends say I'm a menace
And Imma blow up soon, that's okay, take my time
Little by little, belittle this rap game 'till it expires
History book, I'll make it in it, there's no debating I'll get it
Either way you flip it, no different, like I'm civic
TN to Mississippi they'll listen, know I'm built different
But you don't have to be Genius to deconstruct my writtens
Kicks make you want more and the melodies suck you in this
Kicking down your door with the precision of a hitman
Abundant presence of mic presence you'd think it's Christmas
But I got all the gifts I need, throwing out my wishlist
(Yeah, the entertainer's here!)
The entertainment, made it in my basement
Well, actually the bedroom, but that don't really change it
Change my fit if it don't fit the feeling that I'm aiming for
Okay you still want more? Okay I'll give it to you
Fighting with music, settle the score
More points on the board than index fingers teaching a horde of kids
Bored kids who'd rather snore than work
How does it feel to get shot by the track blaster
Master of his craft, vernacular stacked like racks
He's back backflipping through cash and tracks
He's burning, you feel the ash as you pass past the last place the beat paused, stopped In it's tracks
Deer in the headlights, I dare you to question, dear, my music and rhymes
Sleep on me, you ZZ Top on gold mines
Pen game colorful, a Rap Genius, better Check the Rhyme
Yeah keep sleeping on me kid, it's past your bedtime
I'm a
Magical mystery Tour de force
My pen and pad, never divorced
Or forced to do more, encore
on par, with yours
Life is a history book of chords and mics, MCs of life
Human rights are quelled by wrongs
That makes plight, plight makes songs
Then I
Grapple with this enormous form of horror
Called a port where poor workers work for porridge
gargantuan corporate, snores, it's messed up
I'm gonna move forward towards my goals and net
It's messy, still don't test me
Blessed to bless fiends for music
With grooves and tunes no resting
Yeah, no rest days
Go on, grind never ending
Soon I'll have a bag so big my grocer would be jealous
Soon I'll have more commas then a run-on sentence
Either way you flip it, this lyric will start and end it
Sentences are endless, my friends say I'm a menace
And Imma blow up soon, that's okay, take my time
Little by little, belittle this rap game 'till it expires
