Good Luck man

My flow is like the wind,man, it'll sweep you off your feet
But you ignore the insights, and stay home, beatin ya meat.
Sorry it had to be this way, but it must have been fate,
Throw my weight around here just let the rhymes marinate.
Just let the bullets rip from the steel, tear through ya flesh.
Let the Fe element explode and settle in ya chest.
Shatter ya body up, leave your figure reduced to mesh.
See I stalk in the shadows, ready to pounce on my prey,
The thoughtful poetic scriptures ensuring ya DoomsDay
I leave you lost for words, your grip on the mic full of perspiration.
Your rhymes so smelly like ya constipation.