The microphone molester, machete undresser "Stupid-dope-fresh" type shit resurrector Top gun, Miramar best-of-the-best-er The leave-an-MC-peace-in-rest-er Skill tester, the flex-the-gunner The make-funner, the adversary make runner Make summer cold with rhymes I spit Kick gift to lifted delinquent wit I be the prophet, my rhyme--top it? Stop it. Fly like rocket when I rock it Lock it down with this perverse verse Every fuckin curse a burst of hurt Move crowds: physical fitness rhymes Coke heads couldn't do my lines I'm decorated like christmas pines My battalion rocks MCs become silohetes of chalk
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days
Hit the dirt because the words I spit will Do more than just rip your shirt I'll bitch slap your soul, contact the track control You're coming at me? You can't hack it though So ridiculous, watching my crew get sick of this Wickedness, pitchin' this, lyrical viciousness To crews and cliques, made of men and mistresses This is my life: the twilight and the fight night And trying to see nothing but the highlights when I write These eyes on horizons, die for my song, cry rhymes in Krylon Fire on, move men telekinetically Esoterically beat-speaking with clarity Feel my verity, heroism of heresy And sever every MC I see with severity
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days
Why not... what I came... Why not... what I came...
Why not give me what I came to deserve? Why not give me what I came to believe? Why not give me what I came to deserve? Why not give me what I came to believe?
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days...
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