Dum Diary - Intellectual

I’m like Malcolm Gladwell, pseudoscientific

My cat swell hit it til the cat swell

Did it like Nina did to Jacques Brel

Or not quite but yo yo, yo yo yo

At least I’m not white right?

Nah, who cares, language is fatal but who’s scared?

Elevator to the top, I don’t do stairs

See me with Demi Moore, Afeni Shakur

Hey yo I’m lamping from Havana to Panama

I got Remy to pour

Check your pores, why you sweating me for?

Yo, get out the kitchen, why you checking the recipe for?

I step in the door and it smell like a medicine store

Advil, aspirin, Tylenol, Excedrin, more

I’d be telling you more, but my melon is sore

Yo, whoa, no, my melanin’s sore

Who you for?

The felon that’s poor or the people who be selling the war?

Who you telling? Wait, no why you telling ‘em for?

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up

Nah, nah, really, shut up, no no, nah wait wait

I’m Malcolm uhh, wait, umm, McLaren

Basic bitches rocking what I’m wearing

Panties drop like umm… K-Swiss stocks when I’m near it

No toast(?), I mean hot toast(?)

Wait, I forgot that line

I don’t give a fuck about it anyway

Hey, check it out, I’m here to stay

In a major way, and we be getting paid in a major way

Check it out now, I’m on the block singing Guantanamera

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, uh

I eat ham, shit up on a track

Nice, big-hatted jews, uhh

Used to cop porno flicks from me in Crown Heights

Not really though, haha, yo yo, Kool A.D. too silly yo

Hey, it’s raining, boo Iranian and you be playing but it’s not a game

My crew of orangutans in a redwood forest

I’m James Franco on the cover of VMAN

Kool A.D. He-man, yes we can

My literary agent’s husband works for Fox or some shit

I wouldn’t trust me a lot

Yo but trust me a little, I’m Malcolm Little, proud

Young riddle-me-this type

Black on white knife to fist fight

I’m at the People’s Temple reaching for that purple stuff

Kool A.D., you can call me "Kool Purple Stuff"

Brian Jones couldn’t massacre half as raw

Nah, my math is off

Cop me a calculator plus a spaceship, I’m blasting off

Drunk on Youtube, Hasselhoff

I’m signing autographs for German rap fans with flash cams taking snaps of my rap hands

I’m ham-handedly grabbing the cash as fast as I can

I don’t even know how long it’ll last, man

This too shall pass and that too shall pass and um

Throwing your Tascam in the trash can

Run your kicks, plus your 606

Yeah, run your gate, I mean, wait, your grapes

Plus your 808s, that’s exactly, yo, 808s, right?

Yo, run your papes, your cape, your tape, your jape, your yape

Give a fuck if you can’t feel me

You mad real, you can’t see me

Kool A.D. the Great Bandini

My fam need me, melanin help me tan easy

Lit it up in Japan, see me shit up on your sand

I mean your bland CD, ya, that’s what it is, nah

Wait, nothing though, move land to land, it’s no accident

My brain's working

Tame jerks trying to box me and lock me like I’m James Kirkland

I’m working, you lames hurting

My aim’s perfect, oh wait, nah, nah, nah not quite though

But yo at least I’m not white though, nah

No who cares, language is fatal but who’s scared

All around the world same song, brain gone like a Scarecrow

Wiz kid path narrow, fly like high like sparrow, young black pharaoh

Ahaha, yeah yeah yeah, young black teenagers, I got three pagers

I don’t see haters, haters don’t see me

I’m just a mp3, empty three b-e-e-r-s up into the gullet

‘Cause fuck it I’m in the forest, I’m in the forest

Call me George, I’m georgous, I mean I’m gorgeous

The human orchid, racks on racks stacked on backs of tortoise

Scorpio but still flourish like a Taurus

Multi-seasonal see me in all meals

A-do-do-da-da-ding-ding-ding

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera

A-do-do-da-da-ding-ding-ding

Ya ya ya, Kool A.D. the reason all weasel demons fall

Nah I’m not a heathen I believe it all

Plus I fuck a lot

Check, is you stupid? You in a sucka spot

Chest(?) mean best bean you’ve yet seen

Since Big Pun, the kid drunk off one fifth to the one fifth

Rum kid dumb, run, cops got guns

They handling out bids

I mean handing out bids to kids and steal they childhoods

Call me bleeding heart but I’m wild good

Moses’ mother upon the Nile stood

Basket to casket the child could, Paco

I mean, wait, Pacino, that’s it

???? who’s mine? I claim it for the Vazquez clan

Eyes dryer than Damascus, rain-shadow effect

The bison painted on cave walls

The two dollar Wednesdays, they play ball

Oakland Coliseum, packing a BM(?), Pac in a BM(?)

Yeah, semen on the, uh, um, how you call it? Yeah, the areola

If you a player in a game this’ll hold ya

A whole cold world that gets colder as you get older

Drafted as a No Limit soldier

Cast the video, I mean, cast in the video for Master P and et cetera

Except I didn’t ask to hold the ball it just got passed to me, man

Hunters Point, nigga, I’m nasty V, but Alameda actually

I’m Elian Gonzalez, I’m being honest

My politic too organic to understand it

I oughta quit, maybe I oughta not

Thought a bit about it for a second, so probably not

Cold but sweet like an Otter Pop

Know a lot of tricks but nut(?) a lot

Say hello to all the chicks up in the parking lot

Aha, used to spark a lot, in the parking lot

You could’ve called me Sir Sparkalot

Yeah, operation Peter man, I mean Peter Pan man child, exactly that

Man, if my granddaddy could see his damn grandchild wonder what he would say and shit

I know, I know, I talk a lot but it sounds like I ain’t saying shit

I don’t how to feel about the game but I’m playing it

Think I’m doing OK and shit, I’m saying shit

Slightly ahead of the game, I’m not a lame

I’m Too Short, Victor write a rhyme like a book report

Yeah, almost halal but I could be pork

Hey yo what’s good New York

Peace to Mike Baker and Track though

Love Alameda but that shit was wack though

Light-skinned but still black though

Still don’t know how to act though

Know how to stack dough

Really I just go where the track go

Then I just go where the stack go

Then I just go where the cat go

Brain in the whip titties out

National Geographical, yeah

Test drive that ass out, nut up on her Lil’ Wayne T-shirt and pass out

Used to be under radars of haters and now they lash out

Going back to Oakland like the Raiders when my cash(?) stout

But I digress, where was I at, though?

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Yeah yeah yeah yeah blah blah blah blah blah

I mean, uhh, stack dough, stack dough

Check it out, yo yo yo yo

Fools be like "yo, how you do that, bro?"

I don’t even know it’s just natural

But actually that’s not even the question to ask though

But what’s the question to ask? You might ask though like I’m teaching a class

No, I’m just letting your ass know

Collect a couple bills, sit still, watch the grass grow

Man, just don’t let them snipe you on the tax though

They treat you like a child make them wipe you on the ass too

You could laugh, they could laugh too

And who laughs last and who’s who?

I don’t got a fool’s clue

I’m a TV show, man, I’m Blue’s Clues

If you don’t get it then boo hoo

See me up on my paper like the Jews do

Used to paper hate, now I’m on the paper like a Papermate

Stay awake to the ways of the world cause shit is deep

Like the cousin of sleep

I’m bugging, I’m buzzing like every single day of the week

I used to play in the streets

Teatherball with a tennis ball for his shoelaces

Naturally adapt to have more than two faces

Probably even something like 42 faces

And Biggie was mistaken for like 42 races

But, yo, that’s cool though, y’all know it’s Kool, yo

Kehinde Wiley in Israel singing fake blues

Patricia Williams talks a good game, but who makes her shoes?

Do we need shoes or should we grow callouses?

And hold chalices of old golden Shabazz Palaces

I mean, all go(?) to Shabazz Palaces, I fucked it up, my bad

I don’t give a fuck, I’m so so wait, nah

How many malnourished Asian kids you fed today?

Is Adderall covered by Medicaid?

How…umm, is….wait

Manny Pacquiao, welter or featherweight?

If I thought about it hard could I letitate? I mean, levitate?

Is Criss Angel effeminate?

Just answer, don’t hesitate

Don’t got love? I guess you better hate

But study your mythology methodically and tally all the odds of every Odyssey, got it, b?

Yeah, I don’t even know though, what talks more than the dough though?

Many righteous teachers go the way of the dodo

Party at the crossroads is over, but yo yo

Yo yo yo yo yo yo

After the party it’s the afterparty

The revolution probably won’t be sponsored by Bacardi

Be gnarly, Gs sounding like lasagna when I puff the Bob Marley

See me eating, but starving

A parvin(?), I mean a parmesan sandwich, I mean a Spartan

That’s exactly no aspersion, yeah

An art(arc?) or a curve in a chart upwards

My heart is a starfish, enough words

Starman but I strut earth

Fuck first, love later, shrug haters off

Y’all think y’all swift, but y’all Taylor soft

Nah nah, wait nah wait but wait wait nah nah

Wait but nah nah OK OK OK yo

I’m learning how to be a boss and paying the cost now now

Call me pasta, I lay in the sauce now now now

Tell me basta, you saying to stop now now now

And I’m, wait, probably will uh, ya OK

I’m not a killer but some of y’all gotta be killed

This ain’t The Lottery, chill

Anthropology still couldn’t analyze my pottery, still