ayo

Ya aint gone "Sqeek" a "Win Threw" like Dead Mice gettin tossed in a "Tornado'z Path"/(Squeek is concidered onomatopoeia)
Ya Cradlez Crashed, and you get "Lay"ed down quicker then a Empty Patato Bag/Chipz
Im Comin out in a "Spur" of the "Moment" like "Watch"in Cowboy Bootz on Waynez Feet/
Ill make ya Brain Speak, and leave you "Cut Up" in more Stripz than Cocain Streakz/
You must be Nutz thinkin you gone win, you just End up wit ya Groin Cut/
If you think you "Sound Sick" you betta Record ya self Throwin Up/onomatopoeia are soundz that exemplafy a word
Mix ya Voice Box wit Tabbaco you still wouldnt be Smokin The Best Vet/
You aint got a chance to escape Digestion only cuz i aint Eight the other Seven Yet/ate
Accuracy Countz, so ya punchez dont need to Fly unlezz they all Come Out Landin/
Cuz i aim to rip ya "Spine" out while in da Streetz so you can say you "Out Standin"/


aight you up

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