Stages. There's 8 steps to Godhood. Keo went through his.
Chapter ∞ ▲ Infinite 8s
(Verse 1 – Kid IMp. Childhood.)
Slapstick lyrics, I’m the futuristic Rocko.
Defy the stereotype. Super gifted Bosco.
Fearless when I’m rhyming. Incarnate of a rocket; Otto.
Eat my birthday cake. Jet-Set to bed with Cibo Mato.
(Verse 2 – Ecclesiastic Kev MC. Preteen.)
They don’t love you when you shy bro. Over you they trifle.
Rumors you’re a loser. Whine, I’m going viral.
Bible said the meek would inherit. New demerit to disciples.
Big kids got fists like fucking rifles. Growing up ain’t vital.
Please stay inside those Phantom Tollbooths while you can. You’re lucky Milo.
I’ve been there. Trust me. I know.
(Verse 3 – Zero Limits. Teenager)
My urban estate, mothering Bates, can’t escape this Psycho cycle.
So, we might go irate. Please, be careful mate.
My confederates, separate, go Shiloh.
Scott Summer slumber. Sleep with one eye closed.
Niggas minds gone. Blame the dead presidents and letting in YOLO as the motto.
Peer through your judgmental goggles… Niggas within the ghetto hollows.
Dreaming in the bottles. Girlies in the reins with no tops on.
All hoping today they hit the lotto.
Everybody tired. We just wanna retire with Banks like the model.
Guns locked and loaded for the next nigga at our do’.
(Verse 4 – Legacy. Mid-Teens)
And you know we got dough. Smoke it up like pronto.
Slide it down the line like a conga.
Mix it with the Adderall. High focused combo.
Nigga getting higher than a ten-story condo.
Blowing fairy dust with Wanda & Cosmo.
Say you wanna see HD, hit this weed. Trippy Fandango.
We living on the Edge, like we stepped on stage with Bono.
Never coming down slow. Head banging like a Congo.
It’s all sound though. Got another pound in the pocket of my cargos…
(Verse 5 – Kiji, The Author. Late Teens.)
And it starts to show. On this cosmic road…
We lost, where we were bound to go.
Primordial. GPS. Black tie. Formal. Chaotic soul.
Idiotic. Symbiotic. Connecting through erotic lows.
Neurotic. Smoke narcotics. Pop hypnotiqs. Blending tonics.
All in attempts at rising back to your astronautic whole. Never go.
(Verse 6 – Major Red. Early Adulthood.)
So, I come out with the judo. Suplexing the kujos.
Crush ‘em like a sumo. Till they back on Pluto.
Redrawing the uno. Haters make they moves bro.
Telling me I’m schizo. Speaking to myself in a quiet room.
Well, if I’m sicko who winnows widows with his big schlong,
Do you wanna try me dude?
(Verse 7 – Saturn O.S 1239. Astral Eternity.)
Speak to the lower me. Astrally beyond the ego.
You shine the brightest magnitude, on a latitude that impedes glow.
Hold hope and believe you’re going to be so…
Free. When you finally defeat your inner evil.
Eschew the addiction and libido.
Become a hero. Unify the Earth’s people.
All is one. And what’s two ones, but vertically equal?
Equal. Galactical. Galactical. Saturanian. Galactical.
(Verse 8 – Keo L Major, 1239, The Author. RIP.)
And now it’s time for Keo. Speak tones, from the fountain of the regal.
King flow. Fly as the wings on a helium infused eagle.
Held up by a trio of anorexic harpies. Resting on a phoenix,
Who was nesting on a plane, that is jetting off to space on the nose of a UFO.
So, in case you ain’t know, this alien… is quite fly bro.
Pseudo. Hype. Calm. Ice. Bomb. Flow. X7
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