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My mic is my sword striking and ignitin' a storm/ exulting my words to become a lyrical titan of lords/
verbal ballistics twistin and fightin' a war/sick wit the linguistics that exist the life of my core-im the blacksmith who sharpens the blade,darkens the rain/tossin grenades hittin platoons and bombin brigades/carvin' the way to burn a show like a arsonist play/its not hard to explain why emcees are needles lost in the hay/ concerned wit flossin' they chains instead of the thoughts in they brain/to market they name cause they fell in the moshpit of fame/ so the anger and raucous encaged often remains/to be displayed through the offensive range that slaughter and slays/
and what my heart has contained is deeper than the core of the earth/and the torture gets worse the more i explore in a verse/
scorchin the herbs to find the source of my worth/before organs disperse amongst the vicious torment of worms/fed on by serpeants and birds and my sword is perfectly curve/to mercilessly serve death to lost souls worthy to burn/
so as i urgently surge im transformin and turnin these words/into mercenary heat weapons to make the mercury burst.
-my fightin weapon is cuttin, slicin,wreckin, and gutting/ my mic is extending percussions,strikin, bending and thrusting/
wit lightning sending concussion,i might mend and construct it/what i write is ending discussions,stereotypes i'm denting and crushing/-willing to rush in, bust in, slaughter, and kill/superficial martyrs and the garbage that spills/
and this mic is a fatal extension of my heart and my will/cause its the faucet that spills my toxic thoughts in this field/
and my weapon is often concealed but commly kills/with the amplified sound that the harmony drills/
like rough sex, so the verbal sodomy steals/your ears virginity as i nurture and father these skills/
i sharpen the steel on my weapon cause my mic is my sword/thats extending and generatin a voice thats fightin a war/
where ice is a norm, stereotypes cause the phototype to conform/so i strike wit the armament that guides the light in the storm/-i tighten my armor and stay sharper than slicin kitanas and bitin paranas/ i write and encarve the doom of a fool who fights wit the lava/
that spews and heightens the drama/like clothes im the type to get on ya, im the life this saga/
like the japanese strikin ya harbors writin to slaughter/cause my mic is a part of my tyrannic order/
sighting to conquer like pirates and vikings residing in waters/plunder and give my tithing to father sacraphicing my life as a offer/
instead of abiding the laws of a misguided sovereign/im writin my thoughts in a page the rage of a author/
placin my heart in my words, a sacred compartment/embrace and embark in this journey will i be forsaken, forgotten?/
taken and lost in the realm known as satan's apartment/i watch the sky as the shade of it darkens fate is upon them/
you cant escape from your coffin, im slayin so often/my blade has been arched in the perfect angle, the trait of a marksmen.