as i sit here at my desk my hands go to my head/
and clutch it in frustaition, whole vision is red/
the words are lodged in my pen and they wont shake out/
wish i could reach in take out, or make 'em break out/
this is writers block, i'm trying to spit out words that might just shock/
but christ i've got stuck on the first line/
this is the worst time, i'd rather have my nuts scraped with cheesegraters/
than have to sit here moronic, like cows, yeah, beef flavour/
fuck it, i need some weed paper, get myself zoned out/
concept: something ill, get some music bumpin', chill/
i'm suddenly wishing i was in a position to dump the steel/
write gangsta raps, but no, i'm surburban, so thats aint nothing real/
errr.......what about that bitch ruth? yeah, i could spit truth/
about the time we went to the....naah, that shit's used/
i done it already, i'll make something up and run at it steady/
approach at an even pace with a straight and even face/
goddamit, thats it! i grab my coat and leave the place/
this is 18 lines that i've heaved up to waste/


this is a keystyle i just wrote on the spot coz i aint wrote anything lately and its pissing me off.