vocal chords spit flames, deep words through profound lips bathe
a revolutionary sound fit & made of merry-go-round flipped plays
about a sick plague, spoken free without mics, a sort of precision
going back to old times, like anarchy, it wasnt born with a system
s'like i reformed a tradition, of hip hop & writin through the years
and if ya wonderin if god exists, be prepared, cause proof is here
dont need a crew to fear, may not be the best- im the only one
and i know you rappers spit fake, through plastic phony tongues
so i'll unmask the puns, reveal the golden pen n pad on ma shelf
still mad at myself, but the scriptures i hold a shit-bag of wealth

im approachin to take it, a univeral motion to stake this
i spit verses with jesus, then go play a game of poker with satan
hopin to rake in- loot, and a holy sum of profit, see
BQ gonna put on one hell of a show, n son, thats the prophecy
your thoughts are weak, they wont phase my scheme
your mind will get the seed of doubt, when i misplace ya dreams
put my spirit in writing, and man its true, i plan to use
wouldnt sell my soul now...only cuz i know what it can produce

then i shown my work to da lord, but he was bored what i wrote
fuck..i took a long path, now i'll stab myself with the fork in the road
but before i had spoke, pureness did' i was shocked at the instance
i felt all the light swept away, then sighted darkness in the distance
i was thrwart n imprisoned, i fucked myself on a little promise
now id sell my soul to lucifer, but not even he's bidding on it

Guess it goes wit da topic goodluck

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