Untitled1:
my life to the mic with a dream of being seen/
sound n' style clean with the lyrics that I bring/
broken down to a mathmatic, spitting hot like a pyromatic/
call me a pyromaniac, brainiac fresh without static/
freestyles on automatic, with a beat that's bangin/
shred ya head n leave it danglin, from a noose hangin/
hand round yo neck stranglin, fuckin' up your shit/
after i'm through wit'it, ya gonna need a medic kit/
jobs finished, done, now i'm on the run/
only protection is my six shots in my gun/

Untitled2:
stick round a while as i unleash my style/
the pile on the gravel road went on for a whole mile/
and no one complained, cause to us it was beauty/
the rain stained the ground all around us till around two thirty/
too nerdy he could never be into rap, the drout stopped/
but he had dropped out, picked up a mic n tried to rock out/
his mind was simplistic but his flow was complicated/
weather or not they understood him, he had got to make it/
n' be real away from the fake shit, weak shit like its con-stipated/
but he lives dreams n thinks everything rap related/

Freestyle1:
this bitch stepped up, as a pig dressed up/
said step to me and you'll probably get messed up/
with his back pressed up against the wall/
took a bat to his face like he was the rock standin' tall/
ready for a brawl any where at any time/
i'm explosive like columbine, 'cept I use the mic to rhyme/
ur like frankensteins monster, very large in size/
but i'll deystroy you like transformers, robots in disguise/

Freestyle2:
Pockets stickin' out now, always got the cash/
can always afford a stash, of only the finest hash/
get stoned at home, kick back n' watch mash/
white trash? nah, I got money like kevin nash/
n' I'm dashin' like austin powers, big like twin towers/
never had to work a job at nine to five hours/
yet could always afford a date flowers, movie, and a meal/
livin' life real, won the lottery, what a great deal/

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