I spit twisted, with this pure adreninaline rush/turn your tendons to dust/leaving you sucking ritalin, crushed/I feel you just must...decrease, and cease seeing your self champion/ it keeps me rolling, like hyeina's with wealth gambling/ not withstanding my flow, the waves batter your crib/ I shatter your ribs/now you lie "scattered in fibs"/ the matter just is...that the win is far from your grasp/ breaking your bones in karma, but still ain't "leaving your caste"/the meaning of the last...bar; is that you'll never improve/ I'm ahead of your moves, can't beat me ever you'll lose/ so don't battle me dude....
God-Bless
~elements~