Final Frontier (feat. Blueprint)

[Blueprint]
Yeah, what up
{The show is over} [bad word] to the final frontier
Soul Position
RJD2 on the beats plus myself, Blueprint, on the rhymes
{The show is over}
Live and direct
 [bad word] 
We're here {The show is over}
The Final Frontier
We're here {The show is over}
The Final Frontier

[Verse 1]
We breathe adrenaline, elevate organically
Life begins when the record spins and ends
When blended into the next with scratches
RJ [bad word] the canvas, I find a color that matches
Outline the rhyme and increase the content
Blueprint the piece [bad word] the concepts
Sequence the song steps to make it [bad word] Soul Position in, sole possession of
Poll position, hold your breath and listen
While I resurrect these twenty-six letters
lesson to beginners that tend to pale [bad word] 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
 [bad word] 

[Verse 2]
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 [bad word] 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
 [bad word] 

[Verse 3]
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 metrinome 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 kinda like a signed curve
Time blurs, during my breakneck ascend
To apex and then slows during my lows
Tone-deaf soundmen work my shows
The [bad word] of my artform's always exposed
But I'm inspired by the front rows
They're the reason I prepared for the final frontier
 [bad word] 

{The show is over}
{The show is over}
{The show is over}