1st verse (Phon-X):

Calling all cars
look out for Phon-X droppin’ rhymes like homos on Oz droppin’ soap bars
but I’m heterosexual
wanted by the federal agents cuz I rhyme intellectual
caged in my own rage/ if the world’s a stage
then why is the audience/ gaudy and ignorant
judging my skin by it’s pigment/ or is this a figment
of my mind like a Sigmund Freud design
my behind has hemorrhoids from shittin’ out wanna-be b-boy boy toys out like beehives deploy bees
my rhyme is obtuse like 100 degrees
I’m fumblin’ keys in locks to get the Mportd scotch hiphop on the rocks
fine aged hops mixed with schnapps as I’m pourin’ and callin’ the shots
my headpiece gots/ deep/ rhymes like dimes in slots
pull the lever hit the jackpot of cleverness
automatic props cuz the way I drop shit
you’d think I hold the mic with chopsticks
the herbalist journalist/ ventriloquist of gibberish
playwright by daylight/ nightlife like a stripper’s tits
but not promiscuous, I’m Phon-X the sonic colorist and I blast kids

2nd verse (Mportd Flows):
m. port'd flows in labs where vicodin grows
catch me so zoned, i'm in shorts bikin in snow
with one pedal, while rappers after medals
i shake game and break veigns til the laughter settles
smoked brain in the fog, i broke the chain of the dogs
watched mc's snort caine, proclaimin they're gods
shake heads or nod, eatin corn off the cobs
as amateur broads beatin porn off the jobs
half of us born off a knob that dripped down
another half don't know their dad, he skipped town
why bother to trip now? mid-east is too hot for president carter
so strip down, and drink shots with the current president's daughter
i'll still love this album, regardless if it gets charted
or i might be too late to the gate, my flight just departed
if you haven't live yet, i suggest you get started
meanwhile, when senile, i'll strap raps to my back and get martyr'd
neck darted poisonous with mass times matter
my flows, my boys and us, even fast minds shatter

3rd verse (Shred Lexicon):
Call me the third party candidate,
anti-establishment and passionate,
poised to overthrow the present management
Imagine it, activists examinin' the fabulous aspects of time travelin' --
Markin' wack emcees for banishment, talentless embarassments to hip hop
inanimate like mannequins in flip-flops --
Tick tock goes the clock in the vestibule,
Man invented time to keep you on schedule,
And protect his revenue stream,
Eventually this'll make sense to you.
With theories on limitless serieses of images
Tree-lined villages on hilltops in the infinite,
Unfolding rolling hills holding still in my snapshot thought process.
I'm going ape like I be reverse Greystoke,
That's me skulking around your campsite,
Day laborer, wagerer on nature, leaping from the trees at night with no flashlight.
Poets are priests of the invisible,
rhythmical landscape surveyors,
subliminal movement towards the abstract
Soothsayers, meanings revealed, peel the layers....
Regenerated heal souls without prayers!