Supreme 100

From [e] album by EPIK HIGH
September 16, 2009
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Supreme T… Mix Martin with Malcolm, add a little kimchi. My tenth album, it’s out. Sometimes smart, sometimes like an idiot, like coke and rum, mix it up, you know the outcome. Deja vu, this is ‘White Night’ 2. (‘White Night’ is another 100-bar track like this one, listed in Epik High’s 4th full album) The location where I’m standing, and the countless steps below… It’s too high. You can’t pay to see it. You can only chase after me when you’re following the procedures like the contents page. The bestseller storyteller. Making your CD collection shine since years ago, I’m the CEO of the rap game. Oh, it’s not easy. Even giants have some small worries, but it’s okay. I’m hotter than the fires of hell. Whenever I stand on stage, everyone’s eyes turn towards me. A spurt of energy coming from a small body, as though I’ve sealed my mouth after swallowing a bomb. From spring to winter, I improve my skills. Sometimes, my thoughts are as ‘firm’ as Rodin’s Thinker… When I have to release them like a bird in a cage, I freestyle. Take a rest in it, like a service area, with a ‘checking attendance’ flow. My logic is a chess board… Black and white, win or lose. They call it a ‘beat’… so can I ‘kick’ it and ‘punch’ lines like taekwondo? Rap ‘icon’ yo, my rapping and singing fills up the ‘background’ of hip-hop. Society’s misfit, I become ‘marked’ here and there like a selfie, (‘To mark’ also means ‘to take photos’) but my melodies ‘stick to the mouth’ like lipstick. My rise is ‘non-stop’, but it’s not a sitcom. (Tablo has starred in a sitcom called ‘Nonstop’) My religion is music, my light, salt, and mana. I’m a mystery… The real name’s Mister Lee. My story is a man’s, so call it ‘his’tory. Even at a glance, I’m crazy, a music psychopath. From hip-hop to classic, rock and jazz, I do it all. Six years through it all, still on top, never flop, always hot, never fall. I am possibility itself. My skills are laudable. Like Ethan Hunt wearing Adidas, ‘nothing is impossible’. From Tokyo to Seoul city. Right now, they’re playing my rhythm on the drum even in South Africa. ‘Cause I’m worldwide international, son. Who dares to bump against me, or rate me? I paint all the ‘stars’ black without fail. Be careful when you’re asking for a handshake, there’s a landmine in front of your feet. I’m a troublemaker, yeah. A two-faced cultural hybrid hanging out in ‘Literature Village’, yeah. (Tablo’s book, Pieces of You, was published by Literature Villiage) Got no game consoles, yeah ‘I never play games’, but I shoot words like 007, rap James. The microphone sticks to my hands like a ‘bond’. The world is Microsoft Word… ‘Impact’ is my font. Everything’s a skit like ‘ha ha ha ha ha’. Who would go ahead of my 16 ‘bars’? Like A-B-C-D-E. (The 6th Korean alphabet is homonymous to ‘bar’) The beat must love me… it’s ‘attracted’ to me. Like a rap dustpan, I fuckin’ ‘collect’ the rhythm. When I release it and earn myself some words… I’m stinging here and there. Lyrical, punchline, wordplay king. I’m nice… I ‘melt’ in the ears of the listeners like ‘ice’. Fake mo’fuckers, listen carefully to my advice. You keep acting up, with your mouth only being used to saying sharp words. Your thinking skills are like an accident where it’s 100% your fault, so ‘shut’ your mouth. (‘To shut’ also means to ‘compensate for everything’) Just quit. Like a full checkerboard, ‘stop playing’. Your passion doesn’t breathe, like a corpse’s heart. Even if you picture your dream on a lined paper, you will fail. As soon as you ‘cross the line’, you will go to hell. Yeah I’m so sick. No formulas, no ‘justice’ for me. (‘Justice’ also means ‘definition’) Being affectionate or mean, in other words, I have no ‘affection’. (‘Affection’ is homonymous with ‘justice’) I’m dumbfounded… These kids don’t have a vision. Writing music roughly? ’Bastard’… It’s ‘half-hearted’. Get it? No surnames, nothing but a given name. Your mind’s a mess like wrestlers being knocked down together. Your spit’s full of bitter poison, but it dries up as soon as you spit it out. Yeah, you’re the loser. Flee quickly. I narrow this rap game down. Like a full elevator, haters, you can never ‘join in’. You’ve set your mouth free like a dog. Like when you’re hanging up the frame on the wall, you ‘shouldn’t do that’. (‘Shouldn’t do that’ literally means ‘to use a nail’) Shut up. I’m an emergency doctor. I reveal the ‘blazing’ lies and truths. All the information shown by the world is a mouse… I scratch it crazily like a stray cat. Scratching it like a DJ. Biting it to my heart’s content. The reality of facts. The reality gets spoilt, decaying to a point where it’s lying down like a corpse with a full stomach. I’m a detective… A warrior with the gun of adjectives. No more confusion (Confucian)… I’m a Confucian who writes songs. I can’t fall asleep… I can’t close my eyes. I can’t ‘fall asleep’ because my dreams are too ‘heavy’. (‘To fall asleep’ literally means ‘to lift sleep’) I can’t ‘quit’, like a full grave. (‘To quit’ literally means ‘to put a coffin’) I’m fully independent… I walk on my own., motherfucker. The current address of hip-hop… drop bombs in a cipher. Like I said before, it ain’t hard to tell. I ‘Ba-rock’ the show, ‘O-ba-ma’ self. You saw the freestyle dopeness… Without me the scene’s lost like the catholic church when it’s popeless. Yeah, it’s hopeless, so DJ… What’s the worry? I’m the only way. Choose Tablo… When you’re playing my CD, my mouth is the king, and your ears are an A4 sheet… they become my ‘slave’. (‘Slave’ is homonymous to ‘paper’.)
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