Clint Eastwood (phi Life Cypher Version)

“Yo. Yo. Yo.”

‘Cause I’m this, Gorillaz from the mist lyricist and
my thoughts be twisted.
I spit the wickedest rhymes from a time that’s never
existed.
My futuristic linguistics turn fools into statistics.
I’m a lyrical misfit with a sadistic characteristics.
I perform murderous acts on my tracks with a single
breath,
and if a boy [?] test, then I be stampin’ upon his
chest
Done makin’ a mess.

No other man could conceive the weed I’m consumin’
and I transform from my cartoon pseudonym, turn to a
human.
I spit words from my mouth that be turnin’ you inside
out.
And I tie knots in intestines just like I’m a boy
scout
that’s workin’ ‘em out.

Now rearrangin’ your whole skeletal structure.
Then I find some nine inch nails to perform some
acupuncture.
When I punch ya, I rupture one of your ribcage in a
rage
and I turn you into a cartoon too, then erase the
page.
I take you back to the stone age with Barney and Fred
Flintstone.
Get Dino to tear-up your Moschinos and then force you
to limp home.

I’ma take off like a jet pack, when I get back better
step back.
I’ma make the crowd react and nod their heads until
their necks snap.
I can flip-flaps while riding a skateboard and doin’ a
tic-tac.
and leave your head in a spin like staring at turn
table slip mats.
I’m a conquering lion, big cat. This is real talk, not
big chat.
Did ya get that? ‘Cause I ain’t no small timer, I
rhyme on big tracks.
Now feel the vibes I create.
This heavy weight I’m about to detonate
and demonstrate how I generate lyrics that
supernaturally levitate.
To the top my lyrics escalate, accelerate and leave
you panickin’,
take the ground from beneath your feet, leave you
Skywalk-in’ like Anakin.
I’m sharper than the tips of Zulu spears and Olympic
javelins.
My style is totally buck wild but most definitely
happecnin’.
To your brains I be tappin’ in, to computers I be
hackin’ in.
To me, I be out of this world like aliens who were
time travelin’.
I’m dabblin’ in the Fists of Fury technique when I
speak.
Forget Karate Kid and these wooden blocks, I chop
through concrete.
Concrete, concrete, concrete

Wha-wha-well-well-wha-well

I’be been stoned ever since the days of creation, I’ve
been red.
I’m a mad dred, causin’ so much havoc in Russel’s
head.
My lyracism is just like an aneurysm inside his
brain.
He plays the beat in a trance and he’s never feeling
no pain.
I could never be a racist because I posess so many
faces.
I’m one of those beat-up bad wit’ bags and a pair of
braces.
With lines longer than laces I’m gracin’ you with my
presence.
The lyrics went flippity-flick, and ya bubble like
effervescence.
I pulverize and bamboozle, shave numb skulls like a
poodle.
I smashed the top of your head with a guitar I
borrowed from Noodle.
I’m as animated as Japanese animes causin’
callamities.
Some serious savory from my roarous rhymes of
reality.
At the speed of sound, I’m running around the clown
that tried to defeat us
but that tenacity is an audacity that you ever thought
you could beat us.

Beat us, beat us, beat us, beat us, beat us, beat us,
beat us, beat us…