The Shaman in me, to cross all T's.
And to eat the eye of the apple, to drink the Snapple.
Havin to cap, is this Top Down or Bottom's Up?
I guess when you walk downstairs, you know what's up.
To shut the door on the Babylonian Whore.
And she's in me, the Isis, the core.
Havin to Hath, the Wrath, this the decree.
And now I'm reminded that this is me.
The key to her heart, her sweet to my tart.
To stay in my lane, while shopping with the kart.
Is this Mario Kart? Let's keep on task.
And we're reminded that the human intellect runs on gas.
To grass root, to mute, and as Lit as "My Own Worse Enemy."
And we need the antidote, this is the remedy.
What's with the antics? Is it the cream of the crop?
Is this the bread of life or do we have Taylor Made on lock?
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