March of the wooden soldiers, C-cypher punks couldn't hold us
A thousand men rushing in, not one nigga was sober
Perpendicular to the square, we stand bold like Flare
Escape from your Dragon's Lair, in particular
My beats travel like a vortex, through your spine
To the top of your cerebral cortex
Make you feel like you bust a nut from raw sex
Enter through your right ventricle clog up your bloodstream
Art terminal, like Grand Central Station
Program fat baselines, on Novation
Getting drunk like a fuck I'm duckin five-year probation
Starts at the 3:23 mark:
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