Metatron One Lyrics & Chords By The Constructus Corporation

So uh... Who's your target market here?
Ummm... Bitches.
Hard hitting
When I step to the mic and start spitting
Freaking motherfuckers like some suckers getting freaked by the preacher man doing god's bidding
Cry to the angels
The stars explode tonight
Metatron one I been known to get the job done
We on some intricate, intimate, innocent, infinite, inner-shit
If we start something we finish it, our ability is unlimited
Isn't it, oh yes
I can process no less than a thousand thoughts Every one-tenth of a second
You still sitting on a see-saw
Our alien tech makes your g4 seem slow like Eeyore
You teach your computer to rap, I got light raining on my brain
Check these heads glued to the track all the night waiting for the train
My water-soluble, molly-coddled molecules submerge themselves deep inside a sea of post-imaginative psyche
Where matter doesn't matter then I materialize and come crashing into your sphere
With a nice, juicy tongue-lashing for your ear
Metatron one I been known to get the job done
We enjoy an electronic, symbiotic existence between here and Avalon
While you babble on about Babylon always trying to get the battle on
Our little green lanterns illuminate a very, very vast sea
We see patterns mentally mutilated people can't see
The lyrical spell-caster
Strapped with a fully stacked mystical, biblical hell-blaster
You mystified by the cyto while my ectoplasm is a much darker texture
As I reflect the effects of this evil architecture
Stunting our expansion, so I'm making sure that you feel this Like a man-made phantom, psychosomatic illness
Only difference is this shit is as terminal as bad timing
Keep refining your vertical alignment till you reach my island
Metatron one I been known to get the job done
There's no such thing as out of bounds
The death-walkers moving in and out of realms, electro-magnetic shields up
We always on-line, even when we catching shut-eye
Unfazed by restrictions inflicted by days gone by
I sit still as cast iron, watching my star-shine, exhaling for the last time
Deciphering ethereal material from imperial archives
Permanently upgrading my temporary hard-drive
The agents of the dark-side can't hide
Plus their voodoo can't find anyway to penetrate these calm minds
Like some self-imposed metaphysical apartheid
At the end of the day this beautifully maintained body's not mine
That's why I step to the mic and rock like I just dropped by
Metatron one I been known to get the job done