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chemically imbalanced - mr. dead lyrics

mr. dead: uh, automator! automator. word. uh. automator

verse 1 (mr. dead):

how can i bend this? style tremendous
put ’em in machine so we give ’em spin rinse!
hook on hangers, my phonics are rhyme lyrical
all must fall… to the critical!
rhyme smooth sayer, displayer for the m-sses
peace to the girls with the great big -sses
me, myself? i’m in the hundred yard dashes
got a hundred gs, now it’s time to dash, quick!
dash quick, move, and chill!
ain’t nothing worse than a n-gg- that’s ill
i be mister, “m.r”, period – d-e-a-d, serious!
hardcore style, be delirious
move at the speed of the beat, it be serious
don’t got to be a monkey to be curious
hold, up, stop, drop the top product
i drop two and one, the narcotic
ambionic, symbiotic, stupid motherf-ckers…
you be hooked on phonics!
hooks so nautical, audio, visual
lessons to be learned, they begin the ritual
my lyrical wrath, is biblical!
mr. dead, spit through, bring the mayhem
“how he do that?” that’s how i slay them!

verse 2 (big pat):

whoa, this is weird, like those people beneath the stairs
my appearance got them scared
like some indians scalping heads
run and hide and tell those black folks
and the white folks, three amigos
coming fully loaded with some shotties
underneath they black coats
go balero, where’d my ho go?
hope she’s out there making dough
can’t afford to lose a bundle
’cause this b-tch won’t slide down slow
coast i live by, streets you could die by
by those k!ller gangsta thugs
there’s the bullsh-t police on “new sh-t”
they could clap you if you don’t put ’em up (“put ’em up!”)
stick those hands real high, make sure there’s a blunt for me
if we’re out here spitting some bullsh-t…
the least you could do is buy some weed!
make sure there’s no seeds in my green trees
dealing with me’s unhealthy
got a little bit of time with no tower rents
whole bunch of drugs; chemically imbalanced!

verse 3 (mc paul barman):

i had a poem in the catacomb, but i’m glad i’m home!
gosh it’s good to be back…
the whole ride i tried to decide, “is that a siren, or a ski rack?”
check in the rear view mirror
speak up, so i can see you clear!
hey you, did you hear my debut?
jeru the damaja? k.u.? a manager?
who’s in stage crew?
i’m striving to be super human!
and fearing cooper union…
but i’m not some academia putz
with an unfinished novel that bobbles
in a wooden bowl of macadamia nuts
guess what? mal love almost gave me some cuts!
i met him at his workplace, he was like “jerk face!”
“we can’t survive on $250 a night, have you ever heard of tour support?” i was like, “no!”
he was like “it’s when you ask your label for some cash so you can survive! why don’t you go do that?”
i was like, “okay!”

- mr dead lyrics

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