This is a different kind of hip hop, I'm givin you a drip drop
Of what it's like to never flip flop or let the hits stop
Fans call me Clinical, some man called me cynical
For reading senate meeting minutes and getting so critical

But listen, pay attention to politics where men in suits are runnin shit
Passing laws protectin using all these drones and guns and shit
Like peace is illegal, you American or you a bitch?
Choose wise or get lost in the mix

And pay attention to economics where men in suits are runnin shit
Passing laws protectin them from taxes help with selling shit
Your fleece has an eagle, that's gotta mean that you are someone
You're still anonymous and lost in the mix

See kids rockin the kicks that had Rick Ross gettin rich
Meanwhile the real boss was a man in his 60's with cuff links
it's all smoke and mirrors, unspoken terrors, and the joke is clearer
When you get a view of bygone eras

Cause history is cyclin while we get broken down like glycogen
And Mike 'n' Ike's have dye in them, who knows what cancer lies in them?
I'm just a cop cockin a glock in a post apocolyptic ocean mist
In other words I'll shoot you into the future with my prcociousness

I vomit andromedas you see my intelligence quotient is
Higher than thermometers you see chicken stuck n roastin with
So keep your hands ready for the spectacle, observe listen and learn
And we can ALL get Clinical

Free speech brings out the flower child in me, totally copacetic
But Clinical's so mimetic, so you never really know what you're gettin
My myelin hits the ozone, I'm a violin virtuoso
On the vocal folds, smokin to Paul Oakenfold

Got the hot noggin, not the Haagen Dazs and we been droppin bombs of trauma one day we'll wonder they're bombin us, Obama
Drones with civillian flesh residue
I'm a one man obsessed protest and expect no less of you

Topple monopolies, mephistophele comedies
Heckle records with sodomy, dick through the 45 hollow piece
Hike up thermometers, vomit comets kilometers
Been a monitor of the people ever since I was taught to pray to steeples

Got a momazon who expects me to be a phenomenon
So I strap the helmet on and vroom vroom kick start the rebellion on
Pit and the pendulum, dope, put a big ol' bend in the end of the rope
So if the sickle misses the throat, that's how I'm endin 'em