Spit verbal physics that halts time, incisory lyrics to detract ya spine...
I pop nines, when crews collective brain cells implode from hot lines...
Derisive verbs, put "da truth" in a hearse then evaporate the spectres...
Not words i destroy with letters, got more killer b's on c-d's than wu with vendettas...
Depart more knowledge than afflictions of alzheimers conditions...
Forget fists i fight with diction,assault emcees in illegitimate positions...
With viscious verbal compositions, lyrical assassinations without commissions...
Erasing idols is the mission, like fake thugs i swing with books and kill opposition...
U aint irish, so u aint close to terminatin Presyce u must have a Fake-Clover...
This is just a warning for you bitch, cause Presyce here fo the Take-Over...