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top of it...

for the apocalypse my thoughts elevate faster than rocketships
talking provocative offering offices the dopest accomplishments
ever recieved from a sociopath that's off his rocker with
vodka shots, woodys, mikes, smirnoffs, and alots of shit
fly off the dome, rhyming alone one of the few signs of a known
giant trying to controll his mind from the violence inside of his home
I concide beside sciences shown through modern appliances
and try to modify the worth of it by five times of it's design for the zone
But you - your a liar a clone, with the desire to own the empire and throne
I left in the past - so fuck you confederate trash...your like a Hummer on a tight turn..destined to crash..
just got me some Mexican ass, without extacy tablets
or spending hefty amounts of cash, Just chilled and perfected this rapshit
that's what I've collected is mastered...it's professional
text-ceptional expressions manifested through track mixes that or louder than black bitches!
that are so high, the decibles feedback are cracked pitches
fast ball - give the aluminum bat stitches
I spit so much crack, the fluids inside of my back itches
but i do it for the music, not for the power and plaq riches
not for the fame or the stacked chips, it's..
for the vein feeling to remain weilding the wand on the game kneeling
sometimes it's a emotion antidote fit for the pain healing
but those problems go hand and hand, so I let it lash out
let it run through my mind until the knowlege is passed out
let it run it's course until i feel it stepped to it's last route
soul of a man - consoled in the hand of a genius that's past doubt
while your out on the street throwing stones through a glass house