SUMMER CAMP

[Verse 1]
Yes it is! The attack of the fantastic /
Andy O. and Mr. Weighn, it’s nice to have ya /
The goose egg’s tacked to stand for Odinson, Son of Odin, Thunderer /
“Whosoever hold this hammer shall possess the power of!” /
—But only if he’s worthy and you’re damn right I am /
I ain’tcha average rapper, fake and plastic, like a mannequin /
I’m trying to do work on these heads like a barber /
Music made to take you places that you’ve never been and even farther /
Punch it Chewie, hit the hyperdrive, let’s quest! /
“It’s dangerous to go alone, take this!” Oh yes! /
That’s defense against the hobgoblin horde /
Dual-weilding Mjolnir and a sword, fight with lightning like Thor! /
I probably wouldn’t choke ‘em with electric cords /
But wood shock ‘em in quantity: in electric cords /
I’m like Kuvira’s Colossus, divine, no electric core /
Damn, while Weighn’s beats bang, I’m raining pain on this eclectic orb /

[Verse 2]
And now I’m dropping back in—to this verse like a half-pipe /
Exhaling hot dope and not holding no crack pipe /
I do it for the love, live, with or without a mic /
Unravel sweater-threaded verses while I’m wheezing from the hash-pipe /
I smoke the purp, until my head is giving birth to art /
And for an eARThling the word is literally at the heart /
Of his form and moniker, I'm native and intense in my directive /
Cuz ‘earth’ without ‘art’ is just ‘eh’ /
An 8ball will feed you truth if you believe in it /
The biggest trick the devil’s played: to make you think you isn't him /
and think you isn't God, Starbuck calling Battlestar /
I inflate with faith but navigate with DRADIS—so say we all /
The Yin and Yang got me dropping bombs with aplomb /
That detonate, but in the wake, I neglect to seek applause /
My ambiance's audience unique and uncouth /
And if you don't like it? that's cool, I didn't make this shit for you /

[Verse 3]
So it's been said that Andy O. recites somber raps /
My lady claims it's cuz I never went to summer camp /
It's just harsh observations bolster most of my creations /
and they shape my opinion on the human race when they make /
Clandestine treks, led with sultry summer breath /
Off the riverside path, home to bikers, bums, and mountain cats /
The woman didn't have a ringéd finger like his /
The irony is: no commitment from him made her envious /
And now the crimson drizzle slithers from his dome in rivers /
Cuz the mistress told the mister's missus of their secret visits /
My verbal spew is jumbled, bumbled wisdom mixed with gibberish /
The beauty is: the puzzle fits the listener that figures it /
So open up your ear-hole to metered banter /
While these lyrics tickle fixtures in your gray brain matter /
While these snares pop and snap, and the kick drums bump /
Sit back, relax, and let us make you feel something /