"The Apostle" genre: Hip Hop
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	My first full length song. Done for a mixtape. It's poor quality, I know, but you have to start somewhere. Mainly a song over the beat of El Presidente by Jeru the Damaja and DJ Honda.
	Credits: Antagon, DJ Honda for the beat
	Story Behind the Song Took one take to record. It's mainly just a lyrical exercise. Lyrics The sediment is my evidence, grounded to decadence/ Electric elegance, heavy metal for my betterment/ Flow magistrate, handle wack raps you demonstrate/ Ventilate, don’t emulate, the center stage, eliminated/ Innovate, generate scripts that flip lids and penetrate/ Incinerate old blood, cold hearts, don’t indicate/ Iconoclastic magic stabbing lancers and their dragoons/ References, obscure, when I’m sure and ready to consume/ Shame looms, like indifference, spit shit ‘til considerate/ Insignificant idiots impatient intentions, illiterate/ Eviscerating gays, eliminating plays, in these intimidating games/ Innovating flavs that leave dunce caps, incinerating grades/ Who’s this kid? They can’t flow with me/ K couldn’t Ci a fake name if I roll called Jodeci/ Histronic electronics, you should be scaried this instant/ Cause I cleanse lyrics, no need to repeat, just rinse it/ The wordsmith, heard this, bird get, disturbed when/ She learned kid, spurns hits, turns switch his verb tricks/ Unstable, I’m ready willing and able/ When you reach the second turn, wait for the table/ CHORUS: Antagon, dragging bastards/ (The Apostle’s coming) Black fandangos, tragic/ (The Apostle’s here) Shake the breakbeat, game’s weak/ (The Apostle’s coming) Lyrics belong on their own sheet/ (The Apostle’s here) Got my first rhyme book on Christmas, lessened my distance/ Toward dissidence, integrated, so pretentious/ At the time, I thought my heart had pride/ Now I look back, to see I was really just living life live/ No need for introspection, save that for the journal/ Rhyme scheme internal, off the dome, it’s infernal/ I get beef everyday, at least three times, star north/ Then I invent brunch, and hit two birds with the same fork/ I don’t mean to go overhead like sex in plane storage compartments/ But I’m lyrical firestarter, I park and start arsons/ Add cock to tail, you’ve got Molotov, one take record/ Stored while you’re floored, bored, raise my firey sword/ My sonic imprint is simply lyrics, echo effect/ Set then jet, elected for the test to impress/ OH SHIT, you’ve never heard anything with spirit/ Just remember Antagon, the Apostle, best you hear it/ CHORUS: Antagon, dragging bastards/ (The Apostle’s coming) Black fandangos, tragic/ (The Apostle’s here) Shake the breakbeat, game’s weak/ (The Apostle’s coming) Lyrics belong on their own sheet/ (The Apostle’s here)

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