let me spit you something that you might like a bit
my rhyme is surgically implanted with a microchip
underneath the surface of the skin as embedded ID
a protection from piracy, the right to privacy
fingerprint and iris scan this suspect society
the writing's on the wall, in binary
army of zeroes and ones, the fear of what comes
they got their information from hysteria funds, mysterious ones
barcode tattoos, the mark of the beast
a calculation system that arose in the east
destruction of higher learning, the book burning
graves stay unquiet, the dead keep turning
white noise, pink noise, brown noise, grey
gimme the mic so i can take it away
lyrics foreplay, positions, digital Kama Sutra
controlling the past like who controls the future

if there is hope, it lies in the derangement
no consolation without console entertainment
power up your character and dance with the devil
and we all fall down off the bottom of the level

i wrote this rhyme at five on an insomnia bout
so best forget what you don't feel strongly about
i wanna play games, but other rappers seem reluctant
blast 'em out the sky like Duck Hunt
tumbleweed scenario, north wild western
gun out of my cold dead hands like Chuck Heston
civil rights traitor, part II: the sequel
God made man, Sam Colt made him equal
maybe not a chart hit, still i drop some smart shit
on a beat reminiscent of Atari cartridge
300G steez, sounding a welcome
vibrant like street art in central Melbourne
dissonance on Free Men beats, we tag-teaming
fantastic distortions like nights of bad dreaming
full spectrum dominance, dull, direct and ominous
ghost in machine synonymous with every one of us