I think I see the lines,
I think I see a sign,
I think I see the sky
as an intelligent design,
I think I feel the aura 'round the lights from the behind
of a shiny silver Camry,
driving families through the grind.
It's a model of it's kind,
and a product of the times,
the essence of the prime
can never be defined
by my metaphorical rhetorical
of the ambient lighting of Zion
coming down on my mind
eating fries, getting wise,
rolling joints in the back of the ride
on the surface of the binder that I scribble out my rhymes...
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