*Relaxing my mind letting my conscience run free*


Fanfavorite must be crazy if he wanna battle me, your rap career is gonna be lactose free/(no cheese, money)
How does it feel to be my next casualty? When my punches hit you POW, you feel me?/ (Prisoner of War, casualty)
Even if you gave the voters 3-D glasses they probably still wouldn't feel you/
Spittin~simplistic~suddenly~spittin~smooth keep my revolver spinnin' that put six holes in you/
Doctors say I'm sick, and call my rhymes lyrical morphene, just one session and your addicted/
No need to try, but I'll still drop a tight verse, Miss Cleo already told me you'll be leaving the battle in a hearse, its predicted/
This cat fanfavorite think his rhymes be blastin', lyrical nine bullets flow right past him/
Make him take some pills to relieve the pain, cause the nine pops more times than pills in a bottle of asprin/
Lyrically exrecise my right hook punches, it should be easy to spot'em comming cause when i thorw punches they come in bunches/
My punches hurt where you weakest the most, so when you lose this battle you'd better train my doing crunches/
Everytime i talk to ya girl she always wastes my time, but I respect that cause she gave me a piece of her mind/(get it?)
People on my block call me the petty cashier most of the time, cause I be runnin' the nickle and dimes/
Fanfavorite is still stuck on writing a hit, when I belong in the sewer cause i'm seriously da shit/
STOP spittin ya shit cause I wanna hear my fans, I got more automatics than a parking garage full of vans/
So leave me alone cause I'm tryin' to put The Executives on the globe like Rand McNally/


OuT~~~