B. Boyd - The Pope Lyrics

I leave opponents weak
Every time I speak, I pown a geek
I'm known, the bozo who's prone to gleek
Leave the microphone soaked in toner ink
Cuz I'm printing out rhymes and I'm making them jam
When they read my outlines they become a fan
I'm a son of sam who's been raking it in
A braindead caveman taking the win
I'll say it again: I'm taking the win
I may be a kid but I know that you'll play me again
Cuz baby I'm it, I come in with the alien wit
And everything I say is salient: AP Lit
I leave the regrets in my hindsight
I don't need the weakness in the limelight
I treat the demons like a trilobite
How I light 'em up like I'm dynamite
Yeah I blow 'em up like they're Jesse and James
Blasting off like a rocket, gassing the flames
Advancing the game and passing the grades
Y'all don't even got a prospect, yo, quit harassing the dames
I break chains, I maintain
The same razzle-dazzle that keeps me ingrained
I put it on wax like a Razzmatazz
And that's a Crayola crayon for y'all avid fans
I'mma spaz on a loudmouth, inbred acolyte
Asking me if I can tag a caption onto what I write
I'm out of sight, flying higher than a kite
Telling childish rappers"Hey, night night"
I leave the regrets in my hindsight
I don't need the weakness in the limelight
I treat the demons like a trilobite
How I light 'em up like I'm dynamite
Yeah
I hear the demons chasing
The devil's at my back like I needed pacing
But we aren't racing
I'm beyond basing
My own self-worth on the words of Satan
So I close the case and send a prayer to Poseidon
There's no adjacents in the place I'm residing
There's no syndication in the way I'm rhyming
Only syncopation and impeccable timing
I arrive at my destination impatient
The impish bag-boy sends up an exultation
I inhale, and on my exhalation
I escalate to a priestly station
I exercise my right to be equal
And exorcise by rite the true evil
I banish and dispel right through the steeple
Anything that prevails as truly deceitful
I walk up the steps with my thoughts and regrets
It's as hot as it gets as I top up the crest
The demon looms behind his office and desk
Body shimmering from his droplets of sweats"Yo drop the pretense, I'm here I ain't no beginner
Dispensing blessings' my profession so please commence your confessing, sinner"
He just laughs and grabs for his staff
I slam open the case and pull out the draft"I evoke the bespoke, the cold draft
To blow away like Roanoke this old gaff"
I spot him necking it like a giraffe
But he trips and stumbles like a fumbling calf
So I finish the rite, invoke the exorcism
Feel a peace in the night without his portly schism
No more blight, the plight of the frightened's been lifted
I sigh and delight that my writing's been gifted
In every line, you will find the divine
No there is no sense penning sins into your lines
And it's crunch-time, I'm disinclined to recline
So I'm getting mine, writing rhymes 'til I'm enshrined
I leave the regrets in my hindsight
I don't need the weakness in the limelight
I treat the demons like a trilobite
How I light 'em up like I'm dynamite
B. Boyd