Final Frontier

Yeah, what up (The show is over) Welcome to the final frontier Soul Position RJD2 on the beats plus myself, Blueprint, on the rhymes (The show is over) Live and direct We're here (The show is over) The Final Frontier We're here (The show is over) The Final Frontier We breathe adrenaline, elevate organically Life begins when the record spins and ends When blended into the next with scratches RJ constructs the canvas, I find a color that matches Outline the rhyme and increase the content Blueprint the piece that completes the concepts Sequence the song steps to make it more complex Soul Position in, sole possession of Poll position, hold your breath and listen While I resurrect these twenty-six letters A lesson to beginners that tend to pale in comparison You're not ill, and if you are My notepad's full of medicine Plus my freestyle is Excedrin Take two rounds and call me back with a new style And show me you're prepared for the final frontier We breathe adrenaline, elevate organically My pen like a turntable arm moves mechanically Even when the groove shifts or skips dramatically I accurately etch out my well-defined fantasy Across a skyline covered with sound I move into position like a cumulus cloud Acid rain slang still a part of my MO since My first demo, known to soak instrumentals With brainstorms, capable to break in the calm Created by strange tongues that praise the norm But while they make a living giving false testimony I often impress the ceremony with an exercise in exorcism First I ride the rhythm, then I spit a venomous Open mic sermon for the trife vermon That had a hard time learnin' How to properly prepare for the final frontier We breathe adrenaline, elevate organically Escaping out of milk crates with modern-day tragedies Of lost, or crews you coulda looped first But refuse to do the work when the whistle blew So in a world dominated by the digital The metronome I listen to beats inside of my chest It speeds up with a level of stress It's built to last, but analog at best Ingest another measurement of time served My lifeline swerves kinda like a sine curve Time blurs, during my breakneck ascend To apex and then slows during my lows Tone-deaf soundmen work my shows The ass of my artform's always exposed But I'm inspired by the front rows They're the reason I prepared for the final frontier (The show is over) (The show is over) (The show is over)