I make my home out of rocks and boulders so I can adapt me genes to the rough surface of the earth/
texture not always round or always curved/
sometimes the tangent lines to my mind not perpendicular to my height/
time flows in irregular patterns/
just checked the warped box in the ice/
the rhyme's losing flavor/
no longer nice/
somebody add soy sauce to the rice...
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Rhymes
Posted by ThereHasToBeaWay at 9:23 PM
Labels: hip-hop, mathematics, physics, rap-lyrics, rhymes
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment