[Killah Priest]
My pen's compulsive, obsessive
It never gives itself enough credit

It's explosive, Ritalin should do it
Odd behavior, with the bars on paper
When I write to this music, reactions

It's like sadness, to laughter
Though I'm spitting classics
The thoughts of madness, it gives me asthma

Rather than think, it sinks into deep depression
Deeper questions, performing neurosurgery
Words in 3-D, its sick disease discovered

It slowly occurs to me
Go into ya ashtray and light a roach
The test results are back

Let's see what I'm diagnosed or why I wrote this rap

My paper keeps gaining weight, fat %#@!

Like this the bars might break
The diet pills in my writer's skills
Should I put the mic back down and wait?

Not good for the heart, caffeine sixteen's
Raps need more greens, when it eats, know what I mean
Sentence experience hemorrhage, lyrics insulin

Hydrocodone pen, oxycodone toxin when I spit hot wind
With alphabets that connect syllables
Ill individual, I spit visual, lyrical

Go in ya ashtray and find the roach
Hear the results, I'm an addict
Addicted to the mic, here's the diagnose


The flow don't have enough sodium
It leaks, that's why I speak from podiums

I teach, two weeks have me on opium
I wrote it 4pm
Last night a glass pipe mic detach from life

Dependency, since my entrance
Instrumental CD's, influent sixteen's
I'm trafficking rap

Shootouts with my mind to get it back
I got it like that, it's in my luggage
As soon as I begin my subject

I finally can go public
Pay the stewardess on my mental plane
Go thru customs, I might buss one

If the beat feels the same
Receive testimonies from past fiends
Rakim spoke, I listened, took notes

But when it's my time to speak
Something got caught in my throat
It's not fair cuz I'm still using

Sorry y'all but the street music
Go in ya ashtray and light a roach
I got the results

And laid back and read the diagnose
The addict in rapping on different beats
There's so many styles I wrote