Euclid

I hustle, I hustle. One-to-one and unto.
I hustle, I hustle. One-to-one and unto.
I hustle, I hustle. One-to-one and unto.
I hustle, I hustle. One-to-one and unto.

I'm the perfect function.
I hustle with matched correspondence.
Cover ever possible player in the range.
When there's money coming in, its going both ways.
Growing to the max. Knowing that perhaps.
One day it could all crumble and collapse.
Doodling rhymes with cubic splines.
Trace 'um like fluid spewing out the spine.
Map a circle to a cline and call it a line.
Change the sign and shift it to the origin.
Once more, what's more important?
That pill or snortin' a portion
ranting problems are proportional.
A complex plane,
but I got my habit in a sphere...

I hustle  through crumpled paper in shuffles.
Stand at the mic and hope not to mumble.
Stumble through words that are muffled.
Fumble the syllables, crumble, recover, and
come back at more than twice what is double.

Oh! he's a poet and didn't know it.
but most of all didn't nobody notice.
No one knowing he was going and going
with uncontrollable motion
flowing like explosions microphone loaded
coastal tidal waves oceans implodin'
homeless and loathin' no clothin'
on jump street, jumping
looking to bump ugly's with a mummy
or anybody who's willing to love me.