stream this song | open this song in your browser | back to album page | back to homepage AA's Track 17 from "Maiden" by The You Essay Chorus: AA's in my system. Loud enough! (x3) Yo, I can barely hear that shit, man. Turn that shit up! A-yo, fuck the Web! My arterial to your head is a set of headphones; lock-nut on your music. Similie rot-weiler. I describe your compositions to my dad. He says, "bad," plus my mom. When I'm on the moon, stardust under my boot as I scoot across the lunar surface. I work this 33 percent gravity, leaving behind Glenn impression. Then messin, in reverse, back with you. Attacking you, sorta, with the cuts that I recorded. A certified record-exec catching the wreck, paying myself, shaking hands, doing deals so these two dudes can feel right where I'm coming from. Coming in your eye from across a large distance like Phife. Twice! You're a seat-cushion. I'm mushin your head. Steam-powered piston headphones pushin, your head's blown. A dead zone circumscribed by my work which is live, living, a Frankenstein of dead parts. Formerly dead hearts, turning-blue-to-red hearts. As the veins of my flow go southward word-of-mouth turns your flat plains into my delta system. As you're listening, I'm achieving my mission: To preclude street-dudes even conceiving of dissing! Chorus stream this song| open this song in your browser | back to album page | back to homepage