i feel incyan.. i feel like i need to drain the blood from my brain
to sustain the pain that rain in my drout an fill the drains
that complain the same as lame... it aint a game
fame is train to exchange the strain that maintain me in a lane
rearrange the sight of fight for life after a bad night in a collision
dont need spand dex to be tight, im nice with a mic like a techniction
my expectation are rise by each bar that drop from my mind
that'll clime the high rise quicker then blowing it up with land-mines
punches i radar then land-mines after a few rounds u'll be hard to find
like kids in a game called hide and seek, but in my reach u'll be confined
dont interwind with wine that leave u ly'in in a cage with a lion
all the prices talk i aint buying so stop trying to get ahead like hoe's fryin (get it) MOTHER FUCKER.....

you cant get head if the hoe is frying some food for ya... GET IT....