MOG

Intro No-noth ~ no-nothing has done more to unite the people of the world than this daring venture, into the unknown His decision was to make the journey and the world watched and listened {echoing scratch} No doubt…{scratches} blastoff.

Verse 1 Ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four (lift off) three, two One Man Army on a solo mission but I'm still starrin, still starvin, still marchin. Train of thought like a drill sergeant; turn you battle rappers into real martyrs, but the real target - The industry cause the real harm is when the deal's bargain killed the real artist, ever since the Sugar Hill started. When Suga Ray was still sparrin, I was ill sparkin; skills far from real dark, and Late Night was still Carson. Skills sharper these days, these emcees still bitin, still barkin, still talkin real garbage. Explains why I'm feelin so trash bag, Glad. I get the last laugh, you get the half mast flag. Bent cash, quick fast, these rappers phony; thinkin this craft is all about the cheese macaroni. I see the path before me, act like you know me; internationally center of attention... not even Shaq could post me. Category, Trackezoids, beats classic only. Feet tappin for me, that's the story 'til I'm Casper ghostly. Every joint I'm on point, no need to ask Shinobi. Swingin at your throat, be not breathin like you Braxton, Toni.

Verse 2 Yo. I'm flown out to blow the microphone out. I spit the flows out; Mr. Scope mouth, no doubt. Tickets sold out, black and white kids, Diff'rent Strokes house. Transform you pessimists to optimists and "roll out." Decepticons style, Megatron, blow! Check the Bond files, 007 stretch beyond bounds of the earth, moon, universe; soon to burst through. Three sixty-five, prepare live, you April 1st, fool. These wannabe best rappers holdin wet bladders need a step ladder; still couldn't reach my best status. Inspector Gadget, extra baggage, I was blessed to have it (skills!). You must be still guessin at it, still testin average. I'm never slippin even if you peeled a fresh banana. The moves I make are checks and balance like a chess fanatic. You less advantaged, manic depressed, and impressed in panic. Lyrics hot enough to melt your plastic, burn your flesh to ashes (ouch!). That's what you earn when you not well rehearsed. Somebody gotta help preserve this art form, myself preferred. Check the verse, it's like a Magic spell with words. These wack emcees prolly felt it worse than a Celtic; Bird.

Verse 3 I remember when Bam' was hot, Planet Rock, Jordan was the man to stop, knowledge every chance I got; keys to the master lock. Deals not real… unless it's God's will. Got NASA job skills, call me astronaut Neil. I reach for the top and be the first to leave orbit. Report it... Phrikshun, Decompoze reinforce it I'm here to paint a portrait, untainted by the corporate; defy forces of your gravity with fly orders. These accomplishments, via "Rocketship", compliment my confidence. I be among stars without your documents, big budget marketing, demographic targeting… All I need is beats and rhymes (so go and spark it then).