The microphone molester Machete undresser Stupid, dope fresh type shit resurrecta Top gun miramar best of the bester The leave and emcee peace-in-rester The skill tester, the flex the gunner The made funner, adversary make runner Make summer cold with rhymes I spit And 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 fucking curse a burst of hurt Move crowds- physical fitness rhymes Cokeheads couldn't do my lines Decorated like Christmas pines My battalion rocks Emcees become silhouettes of chalk
Reading my eyes will save it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days
Hit the dirt because the words that I spit Will do more than just rip your shirt I bitch slap your soul; Contact the track control You're coming at me and can't hack it through So ridiculous Watching my crew get sick with this Wickedness Pitching this Lyrical viciousness to crews And cliques made of men and mistresses This is my life The twilight in the fight night And trying to 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 verities, heroism of heresy And sever every emcee I see with severity
Why not What I can't Why not give me what I came to deserve Why not give me what I came to believe