It's on you - it's on! It's on you - it's on! (x4)

See most humans are like vines with tender grapes /
sippin' wine with pretender snakes.
Me recline with pen and paper, write a reminder – beware of fakes!
N.B. They act like forgotten lovers that'd die to remember hate /
Out here rapping like the lost they mommas prior to a tender age 8!
I can't call it, I don't try to, shit all I do is create /
The sharpest rhymes y'all could vibe to, cop the disc and contemplate!
'Who am I?'. Who are you? What we here for? What it do?
Who and where is God? Why they treat meditation taboo?
In reality, it's the act of seeking oneness, derived from two /
And it don't take a calculus major to integrate this type of truth!
You're the sleuth and the assailant in this dual mystery of you.
It's, 'The Whodunnit of the Ages', exposing a history that's skew!
Get it straight kid! What we face is an illusion–state called the Matrix.
Even the dumbest baller can tell you it's all a game, a trick to the brain!
They'll stick you, then give you the slip in the rain.
Only murder weapons, your prints and slain victims remain,
You've been pictured and framed!

It's on you! In the end, just who is your friend?
It's on you! That 'who' could be me, love or a Benz!
It's on you! The consciousness field awaits your command
So what you gonna do? Liberate, create and expand! (x2)

So I expand like global amoebas, from no form to perfect shape.
My horizons widen with every song and job I create!
Innovate in a page, and send it way out like space–pigeon mail.
Free the mass by paving my own 4D route to hidden trails!
Crouching – in the year of the Tiger, pouncing on biters.
Devouring liars, spit a tsunami flow then douse 'em with fire! (The house is ablaze!)
That's Sharpa burning stages for days in spaces.
Turn humble venues to sanctuaries (all Hail!) – the verbal David!
A young king fronting on your industries – they prey on my babies!
Check the Daily, the city sacrifices souls – it's so unsacred!
So now it's on me to warn seeds and bomb thieves.
I stomp evil – leave them devils hanging from palm trees! (Calm breeze).
Now listen to the God–body, re–center your focus.
And cut out the many monkey–minded chatterbox full of locusts!
See the battle's open–air soldier, but the ground's internal.
So saddle up, master yourself and get down with the eternal circle!