when i come through some of these niggas turn like the leaves make magik piss his fatigues, spit sick enuff to spread disease
my black~Magic more sick then Johnson on and off the court
thas my sport, the red dot on ur forehead like da Hindu sort
nothin complex, my rhymes eat away at ur insides like E.coli
slippin six shots while dippin and rippin ur brains out, thas why
last bar killin u faster then u fillin up glass-for glass wit da Hen
believe its when my multis go thru u like the inside of ya men