Song: Don't Blink
Artist: Rationale aka James Crawford
Album: Metaphysiks
Year: 2003

(chorus)
Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink, don't blink/
Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink, don't blink/
Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink, don't blink/
Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink, don't blink

(verse one)
Crushin punks with my strategy of masterfully/
Rhymin while my colleagues are busy with stackin cheese/
Avidly attackin and sackin it to waq emcees/
With words they can't grasp like I was rappin in Japanese/
Then they comin after me like "I don't understand your music"/
Look, Webster makes a fuckin dictionary, use it/
Suck a dick, I won't say it in clear prose/
Cause everyone's got a fuckin brain hidden between their earlobes/
I drop knowledge and get up in that ass crack/
And use my head for something other than a hat rack/
Yeah, slugs and brawls, thugs who ball, drugs and 'hol/
I'll whack that ass, stuff it, and hang it on my love me wall/
I still be ill and volatile by any other name/
Cause I win, train and win it alone like Clubber Lang/
Crushin lames, punks who claim they thug and slang/
Synthetic and pathetic with they fuckin rubber game/
I never hesitate to devastate with the tongue/
I'll chomp any chump and even lick the plate when I'm done/
So you can bring a case of your guns, but if you pull it/
I'ma chew on that fuckin barrel and then swallow the bullets/
You wallow in bullshit, I excel to greater things/
You think you're takin me, you're in for a rude awakening!/
Cause I'm in control and demand twice the respect/
Like gettin roused in the night with a butcher knife to your neck/
Yeah, sinister whispers in your ear: "Your life or your green!"/
"You even fuckin move say goodbye to your wife and your seed!"/
Nobody nicer than me, but check me as I summarize/ (one)
My words are slept on like inner-city homicides/ (two)
Be makin moves if I could find my direction/ (three)
My worst enemies the man in my reflection/
And to hell with Ja Rule and a bitch to hold me down/
I don't need the extra baggage, it'll only slow me down/
You listen to P. Diddy and think you can spit raps/
You might as well get Billy Blanks to teach you to whip ass/
I'll twist back, serve a verbal bitch slap/
That'll hit you hard enough to make your fuckin ribs crack/
Yeah, get that, and act like I'ma jack you dude/
With a pull my weapon and grab your shoes type of attitude/
I spit a clip of sixteen and reload/
Cause I come equipped with more bars than UPC codes/
Many more bars than a correctional facility/
Believe that I flip it with wicked lyrical ability/
Most rappers are puzzled, and struggle with their lines/
But I'm nice enough to chew gum and blow bubbles when I rhyme/
And each time they come weak thinkin they can beat mine/
Is faker than a Black Muslim that drinks and eats swine/
That's Rationale the earnest ever to serve it/
Shittin on rappers that deserve it, but only if they're worth it/
Emcees act like a prick, I tell 'em to stop it kid/
Shit, I'll cut you down to size like Lorena Bobbit did/
And they recite a rhyme like they're rehearsin a speech/
That's not rap, man, that's merely words to the beat/
So you go on and on in monotone "with no feeling"/
But I'll rock and have the crowd wylin out on the ceiling/ (hey!)
You wanna swap punches?  Man, I would love to scuffle/
But you'll be presumed dead like the crew on the space shuttle/
Pass me the mic, and I'ma hold it tight/
With mad limericks and rhymes like my name was Dolemite/
But let me clarify what I really mean you silly queen/
I'll defeat your team without bad chicks and Willie Green/
So to hell with your bullshit, you'll get punched in the mouth/
Spoutin off on topics that you know nothin about/
And lemme just say that my persona's like my timberlands/
Worn with character, more flavor than cinnamon/
I'm not about blingin, shit, I can't afford it/
What good are rims and chains if I need a second mortgage?/
I'd rather defy, deviate, stay poor and sordid/
Wear clearance clothes and drive a motha fuckin sportage!