Final Frontier - RJD2

Yeah, what up

(The show is over)

Welcome to the final frontier

Soul position, RJD2 on the beats

Plus myself, Blueprint on the rhymes

(The show is over)

Live and direct

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

We breathe adrenaline, elevate organically

Life begins when the record spins and ends

When blended into the next with scratches

RJ constructs the canvas, I find a color that matches

Outline the rhyme and increase the content

Blueprint the piece that completes the concepts

Sequence the song steps to make it more complex

Soul Position in, sole possession of

Poll position, hold your breath and listen

While I resurrect these twenty-six letters

A lesson to beginners that tend to pale in comparison

You’re not ill, and if you are

My notepad’s full of medicine

Plus my freestyle is Excedrin

Take two hours and call me back with a new style

And show me you’re prepared for the final frontier

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

We breathe adrenaline, elevate organically

My pen like a turntable arm moves mechanically

Even when the groove shifts or skips dramatically

I accurately etch out my welded fine fantasy

Across a skyline covered with sound

I move into position like a cumulus cloud

Acid rain slang still a part of my emosis

My first demo, known to soak instrumentals

With brainstorms, capable to break in the calm

Created by strange tongues that praise the norm

But while they make a living giving false testimony

I often impress the ceremony with an exercise in exorcism

First I ride the rhythm, then I spit a venomous

Open mic sermon for the trife vermon

That had a hard time learnin'

How to properly prepare for the final frontier

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

We breathe adrenaline, elevate organically

Escaping out of milk crates with modern-day tragedies

Of lost verse, or crews you coulda looped first

But refuse to do the work when the whistle blew

So in a world dominated by the digital

The metronome I listen to beats inside of my chest

It speeds up with a level of stress

It’s built to last, but analog at best

Ingest another measurement of time served

My lifeline swerves, kind of like a sine curve

Time blurs, during my breakneck, ascend

To apex, and then slows during my lows

Tone-deaf soundmen work my shows

The ass of my art form’s always exposed

But I’m inspired by the front rows

They’re the reason I prepared for the final frontier

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

We’re here

(The show is over)

The final frontier

(The show is over)

(The show is over)

(The show is over)