Post Mortem

Bro, don't shoot, he'll explain the rest No 21-gun salute could make 'em as def He blew the whistle, say it ain't so ref Hating the taste of his own breath, he faked his own death Nothing so deep, as bedrock, crust to crust Publishing money creeping up, long as Busta Bus Killed for his catalog, before going dust to dust Billed dead as analog, sorry for throwing such a fuss He transitioned, from artist, to divine mist Lotta lines writ, so you gotta read the fine print No proof of death, not nobody, or no pine bin No body switch, autopsy, or hearse to climb in The media, took the story, and ran with it Thirty years to the morning, that De La Soul and Dan did it Day of the mask ended, then he Osama'd it Stacking false flag plots and plats from the damn stickses Jan. 1st, learned the press as if in a dream The Fam earning times ten, like it wasn't a thing This clock's running, bout that quarterly and lovely Disc jocks spun his tunes, to loudpack and bubbly Wouldn't you, as a gazillionaire introvert get tired of looking at all these billionaires into pervs? He's can't stand it, like vaxxed pilots looking for work Landing like a jerk, if he plants foot outside his turf Better stick it to the bat cave Stashed full of snacks, security cams and ashtrays Smashing food, gagging on news and what the man's saying Don't believe the hype, Public Enemy mansplained Keeping up with the Joneses, was getting old Steering clear of political omens, was a given tho Drinking cold beer, with no pictures, of chickish bros Their trans-action was denied, there's the road, hit it ho As if she was a damsel Too late, your late great grand daddy's already been cancelled His estate got his interest at heart to handle Operation Dick Cheney, codeword: GET MY MANS THRU Take the damn offer, he brought a lot of fish, but Wade in the water, with a lotta hippopotamus They'll drink to you, dancing with the octopus Look past the ink, transparency means apocalypse You asked for a bone so, he brought you this Don't give a funk, how it tastes tho, he bout da dip Winters coming, stock up bro, you know, for all the kids Villain never tell on his own, or where the prophet is