Imperial Sound (ft. Saul Williams)

Praise
 I just don't understand how things got so
 out of hand
 Tell me
 I'm back for another go 'round on this
 merry-go-round
 I'm livin', pennin' and givin' you imperial
 sound
 Turn the booth to a burial ground, I
 hommie everything
 The James Holmes of the poems, I shotty
 every...
 Every beat is the bang, every ringer I rang
 Every Tweeter, every speaker say I'm doin'
 my thang
 The units I slang, move it, remain, crew is
 the same
 Out in Hollywood swingin', shit is Kool &
 the Gang
 My Balmains got gratuitous hang, it's
 grown man sag
 Traded the thots for stocks, that's grown
 man swag
 Tryna provide answers like Sway searchin'
 his Siri
 With Kanye at his side, now can you feel
 me?
 This shit is that crucial, it's ever fuck me or
 act neutral
 Cause they'd rather shoot you than salute
 you
 I mean I couldn't figure a better way to set
 it off
 Been goin' on for a minute, I've been
 spittin'
 Yeah, this that imperial sound shit
 Sing it, though
 Let's get back to it
 Since that last LP, I might have gained
 some fans
 They was on the Posturepedic, had a
 change of plans
 Don't let the money change you when it's
 changin' hands
 I've been a stand-up guy, never changed my
 stance
 I never came to dance, I spit legend
 Believe we should reign the city, no kick
 steppin'
 My kicks epic, your clique retched, your
 bitch ratchet
 I'm a solo album away from a hat trick,
 you can't match it
 You ain't catch it don't mean I ain't pen it
 I can quote some dope shit, I can't force
 'em to get it
 Can't force 'em to listen, it's more
 awesomely written
 Need the pen, the pad, the track best force
 'em, I've been in
 They say pressure bust pipes and make
 diamonds
 Shit I'm tryna lay the pipe, bustin' cake
 rhymin'
 That's real talk, man
 And so there you have it
 Goin' on for a while, I've been wildin',
 Coney Island
 Yeah, I'm feelin' like it's time to get into
 this LP
 But before we get right there, I got my guy
 Sean Taylor with me
 I'ma let Sean talk to 'yall for a minute, get
 it
 Imperial grace of the lexicon
 Words are chosen even, and we are not
 The space to ponder, the breath within the
 trumpet
 Muted voice, still music, muted minds
 provoke thought
 The meaning of meaning
 Lovesick poet drunk off enunciation,
 staggering through universes of belief
 Premeditation, self preservation
 A man should, no matter how mundane the
 practice
 Young girl taps his shoulder to ask daddy
 what that is, aww baby
 He's just sleeping
 The uniformed men that surround him never
 question what they're policing
 Your place in this story, rent, owning or
 leasing
 When Black lives are capital, they were
 lowercased
 Mispronounced a whole system you fuckin'
 faced