3-O-Clock

Three o' clock in the morning
 Dirty time to be in
 Port Authority Terminal
 Alone in New York City
 You are in need of deliverance from discriminative images
 And unusual amount of musical carcinogens
 Here's an adrenaline boost with timberland boot sentiments
 I vegetate in vaginal canals (No venison)
 That is V for victory, averbally indicative of why I haven't been inundated
 Shit, I demonstrated before that, I see the beat as a clitoris
 And my tongue as the stimulation that's vibrating from slow to vigorous
 It moves with the finesse and the smoov-ness
 Even inside the grooves of a record
 Check it, check it again
 And check the metaphors, make sure they're makin' sense and then
 TwitPic it like courtside Knicks tickets
 Gifted with algorithms, terrific with quantum physics
 Merciless with the words, your verses are quite horrific
 And poor morally, I never support 'em
 Caught 'em in the Port Authority off guard and fought 'em orally
 Renegade 13, who want W.A.R.?
 At three o' clock in the mornin'
 My spawn escaping the grips of Satan, my supremacy is Bourne
 My identity is Jason
 Which you are now currently hearing, I recite it in verbatim
 No ultimatum, played 'em, laid 'em out on the curb
 Made 'em wait before I slayed 'em when I served 'em with the verbs at
 Clever and pretty young girl, caught up in the zone
 Trapped in the jaws of poverty, drug abuse in the home
 Three BFFs already pregnant, her every move is alone
 Seventeen and battered with thoughts of getting to put two in the dome
 Stressed and ready to just end it, suspended in disgrace
 Hate to descend her, her faith heavily contended
 Bend it over backwards, rend it, lower it to, even to extend it, fam
 Like a ninja on a binge for vengeance, man
 Grabbed the stash and cash and ran away
 Thought she had to mash, professin' out of the gate
 Two and a half days later she'll be in the land of hate
 The big city is full of dreams, but you gon' learn today
 Jumped on the bus, cap low, yo she blended quickly
 Ended by a vacation, a parking lot attendant
 Waving a Mets pendant, soul crying, lying like a remnant
 So tiring, so inspiring it feels to be implemented
 No guidance, but her science refused to stay down
 But wait!
 Everybody knows you don't go Greyhound, it's time to shake
 The service is the verse, but first, with time to break
 Bust violently, it's pulling in the gate
 Strolling through the terminal, dude saw the pomade
 Got up in the air, painted a picture looking great
 Not she's out there on the stroll, lost, pussy on a plate
 With demented sickness, substituting cookies for the cake