'Can't Stop This Party' Official Visualizer

[Verse 1: Playdough] Heads rush and faces blush with the stroke of my brush While you was choking in clutch with every toke of the dutch My word was spoken in such mannerism milking the prism For some living colored talent Filling my palette with words and pastels You rent with the track tells Just to pupil learning lessons and blessing the Maxell's It's like I'm Leonardo Divinc of quarter inch Just a starving artiste who's at peace with stomach pinch So clenched his right hand, direct to the mic stand Spot the mediocre joker then clash like titans To find the cure I'm avoiding the last mile Man, your silly wack styles only worth a half smile I'd burn it in graf style, make you respect my mural Then remember the name of Playdough, though your referral I probably won't receive 'cause I cloak my sleeve Inside the plans of the carpenters hands What I believe is perceived as weakness Though they couldn't beat this I just cover mediocrity with strokes of neatness And I etch in the stone, my name next to some scriptures It's Playdough, my words worth a thousand pictures [Verse 2: Jax] Imagine the time spent to make your bare perfect To comprehend, this rattle roll chest Leave myself though my many chrome brush A palette of words dust a canvas suburb More balance ease or tease the artist Whose heart is open for all to view With a track I lose track of all thought of space and time And visualize a rhyme to manifest Many a masterpiece remains are framed or ashamed To be living from the others on display Take a gaze at legendary status living unlavish, Jax Tears you'll sow, a missile blow, ricochet while gulls ration Unlucky receiver of bleeping speed knot Courtesy of the biggest rep Official response of original cons of concepts With in-depth type grip on how to do it correct As ill as the sound is how ill it really is Thoughts brought forth resemble only a few And far between is the amount of the whiffs from me to you [Verse 3: Lil Sci] The black artist painting visual pictures through rhyme scriptures I write distinct ink styles, verbally capture images Yes, I'm an artist so don't try to tell me how to paint my picture I'm hip-hop results in the streets like violence and malt liquor My few points stay outtellectual of course Share my thoughts with those that are lost Searching for dignity, I vibe like A as ubiquity I'm Stevie wonder lyrically Y'all still trying to figure me like ancient Egyptian mysteries Hmmmmmm hip to the hop, don't to the stop So whys radio playing all this nonsense around the clock (Who knows?) I suppose it's the negative verse positive balance Challenging the masses, putting image before talent Yeah, that's why you never see my face on the cover Scienz of life by child discovered the art of living Pictures I paint now are stories for my grandchildren So my empire never stops building, can't you see it [Verse 4: ManCHILD] It ain't no joke, id like to choke this world to die in perfect harmony But I'll start, do my part for the art to educate my colony Come follow my odyssey, its entertaining, I swear solemnly You can stare into my oddities, you can shutter at the thought of me The thought of y'all collectively keeps me up most nights in a cold sweat Bite my tongue at times since inside it holds death Strike a delicate balance between solitude and challenge Raw skill and developed talent, a gentle hand and sharp talons While poverty plays the lottery and gambles with lives of people Wins and losses are correctly identified as necessary evils Agnostics paint themselves in the blood of the prophets Falling in love with the darkness with a plot to steal the dawn And I'll slash this canvas camp off fall victim to cash advances Set myself in battle stances take my chances in Atlantis Where my artistry dwells, somewhere between heaven and hell In-between subliminal street sounds and critical beat downs I'm one of the few who follows through with intimidation When I spit its like I'm letting heads in on inside information When I'm long gone this world will recognize my accomplishments How I sit at home and draft these blessed memos to my congressmen Begin with raw material, paint moral and average model Craving generic works of art with my heart for you tomorrow My pen strokes express life and death, poetry and rhythm Grip the mic so tight that I'm developing carpal tunnel syndrome And honestly, I prefer to create my masterpieces sonically Crush hard rocks with my voice box, but I guess that's just the God in me Probably, they release my anthology All apologies for my broken rotary phone-I just don't hear destiny callin' me So for now, these 4 move forward to mic mastery Some day display my book of rhyme pages up in your gallery Playdough, Jax, Sci, manCHILD a spoken masterpiece And someday, display this Mona Lisa in your gallery