each line of my rhyme's designed to chill and stimulate nerves in the spine//
with texture so fine, my sickness is spreadin like twine soaked in gas//
then mixed wit some wine, so dope whenever i spit it must be a crime//
comin wit scary shit like clock strikes twelve times and bells chime//
sounding off the time for me to step in the battleground, face my opponent//
clean my lyrical eyepiece while my sonar's honing, i can tell dis gon be quick, cat's wearin versace//
blabbin nonsensical pairs of words, dressed in fur, im laffin about what's ready to occur//
i won't even need to come wit punches, i'll juss dropkick him and flesh stick wit the spur//

of my boots.....