Lyrics:

(Intro - James Dickey sample)
Uh... I don't understand how a writer would ever get writer's block, so-called. My problem is having too much, and being unable to get it down.

(Verse One)
Yo why's tha ripper so ill?
That would be an unpardonable breach of confidence fer me ta reveal.
He said, 'Onea these days all eyes'll be on me
When they look up in tha sky 'n' see tha neon C.'
Rhymes inscribed, on a nickel-disk encased
In a glass with a ion beam for longevity.
For more than ten centuries: impressions 'n' memories.
Tha first time-machine inventor will mention me.
Canibus was a visionary indeed;
He believed light could travel in multiples of C.
Tha organic supercomputa that solved tha mysteries
Of Klein-Kaluza with two blue metric rulas.
Liked Cool J, but thought Stephen J. Gould was coola,
N he never liked to propagate rumas.
Smoked Canary Island cigars, liked America,
Luxury cars, n beautiful Asian broads.
He had a strong mind; he used ta philosophize
About rhymes while he was pruning his Banzais.
He claimed that he had written tha greatest rhyme of all time,
But he would never take it out his archives.
He wrote two songs per day
N was constantly was experimenting wit his wordplay.
In his youth, he did a report on tha Sloan Digital Sky survey;
He got a F but he deserved a A.
I followed his career from tha first day;
It seemed tha lacka support contributed to his inert ways.
I seen him put in 24-hour workdays,
With deferred pay, undeterred by tha word 'shame'.
Public humiliation was tha worst pain.
He was spinnin outta control like a class-five hurricane.
He said he wouldn't want anotha emcee ta suffa tha same
Especially when there's nothin' ta gain.
He was tha illest alive, but nobody would face it.
He spit till his tongue was too torched ta taste it.
Properly funded corporations carbon-dated
His latest creations, to extract tha information.
They found it utterly amazin. They claimed tha
Body of his work was tha same thing as a priceless painting.
Never mattered ta him tha art galleries hated him,
'Cause Thomas Kincade called him. Said he would take ten
Complete enigmas wrapped in puzzles encrypted in language
With sound but without shape or signature.
Kept files in his garage on MS-DOS
In a fire-proof pod; we thought it was odd.
Outside there was a shed wit an Oppenheimer lock.
He apparently kept more wax than Madame Tussaud.
We were in total awe, 'cause it blew our minds;
So many rhymes that were intricately designed.
He WAS Poet Laureate of his time
N if you don't mind I'd like ta share some of his rhymes.

(*Instrumental switches*)

(Verse Two)
Alone in my room, lookin' through tha 32x telescope zoom,
Adjusting tha focusa tha moon. One should not assume
Tha philosophy of David Hume is nothing more than a subjective conclusion.
What is tha maximum field-rate application?
Tha runaway glaciation surroundin tha ocean basin
Affects tha population fluctuation
On a continuous basis but that's jes tha basics.
Tha juxtaposition of Can-I-Bus's position;
Tha precision of something no otha has written,
Way above 'n' beyond what was intended.
The unparalleled malleable annunciation of a sentence.
You didn't go ta college, obviously.
I can tell by ur ungodly unintelligible terminology.
Ur remarkable odyssey. Tha rhyme's at modest speech
When tha brain orders tha body not ta breathe.
Ur competency is not up ta speed, you not in my league.
You couldn't possibly be hotta than me,
Or oppositely at minus 25 degrees. U'll squeeze
But tha condensation makes rifle barrels freeze.
Allow me ta speak figuratively. Nigga, please.
My intellectual property's about tha sizea Greece.
Ur counselor advised you not ta speak.
My counselor advised me ta keep rhymin till they stop tha beat.
In tha words of Joseph Heller, 'I learned how ta write betta',
Even though it sorta irked me.
He said he didn't understand tha process of the imagination,
But he felt he was at its mercy,
Which exploits my point perfectly 'n' certainly rein-
Forces tha reason why nobody's prob'ly eva hearda me.
Couldn't understand what I mean by ill,
Lest you try ta translate what I print ta film.
This is tha line of will, tha circle of time,
Tha cycle of eternity, tha emergence of one line.
Academic phonetics render critics tongue-tied.
Tha personified dry humor of cum-laude alumni.
A wise man sees failure as progress.
A fool divorces his knowledge 'n' misses tha logic
N loses his soul in tha process. I obsess with nonsense
Wit a caricature that has no content.
My style is mastaful, multilateral.
I could battle a fool 'n' be nat'rally cruel.
Words of scorn are a disastrous tool.
From my existentialist view, I'm a betta rappa than you.
Grab tha mic 'n' rip ya physical fabric in two.
My attitude is fucked up but admirable.
'Diff'rent methods interpreted into diff'rent forms
From entirely diff'rent perceptions 'n' seen from diff'rent norms.'
Not just spittin' a poem, there's much more involved.
There's much more piecesa tha puzzle for you ta solve.
48 orders of mechanical laws 'n' rays of creational cause
Enhance tha cadencea my bars. Maybe I am self-absorbed,
But that's the effect. To find tha cause
You should ask my A&R. Today is what it is,
But only becuz yesterday was what it was, permitted
U've hearda Beezlebub.
A tale of demons 'n' drugs, pissy drunk
In tha club with tha DJ doin' tha needle rub.
Chances are you neva see me, son.
Yeah, I know my name's Canibus,
But I can't help you if you need a dub.

(*Instrumental switches*)

(Verse Three)
I came ta holla at some big-booty bitches 'n' listen
Ta tha speakers thump. Where you get conceited from?
I'm so nice on tha mic they wanna beat me up;
It's deep as fuck. I ain't seen it all but I seen enough.
Really unbelievable stuff.
There's a lota times when I wanna speak but I'm stuck.
I should leave this rap shit alone
N kick my incredible in rhymes in tha privacya my own home.
My imagination is my own;
Tha liberty ta speak freely lyrically on tha microphone.
Wit a pen in my hand, I bring motion ta tha enneagram
N become 'Cani-Millennia Man'.
Grave my back with tha emperor's stamp.
Been spittin' scientific rap since tha 17th cent'ry began.
Tryin' to escape tha wicked empirea Def Jam
In tha land where lyrics are bland 'n' heretics hang.
Ev'ry warrior has a axe ta bury
But he has ta learn to discern between enemy 'n' adversary.
I said to myself, 'Germaine this is insane,
It's suicide, it's controlled flight inta terrain.'
I fought ta regain controla tha plane
But went up in a balla flames
N got banned from tha hip-hop halla fame
Fa two bars I kept hearin in my head ova 'n' ova again.
It cost me everythang.

(*Switches to first instrumental*)

(Verse Four)
I'm convinced now that more than truth is at stake
Where people create language that pretends ta communicate.
Euphemisms are misunderstood as mistakes
But it's a bi-producta tha ghetto music we make.
From an extroverted point of view, I think it's too late.
Hip-hop has never been tha same since '88,
Since it became a lucrative profession. There's a misconception
In tha movement in any direction as progression.
Even though tha potency of it lessens,
Big money industries writin checks ta suppress tha question,
N nobody gives a fuck no more. No one goes ta tha book store
Ever since tha confluence of Moore's Law.
But I stay in the lab like Neils Bohr,
His son Aage, Edward Lawrence, n Le