:: Verse 1 - Intro ::
Mic-circumcision despite the live-worthless-wisdom
I fight with perfect-vision, to slice eyes and plight cursed-children
Verse-villain, under one-alias with guns-trailing-rifts
Then flung-pales into, young-males and just barely-missed
Prevail-in, split-maneuvers indigenous which-can-bruise-ribs with viciousness

:: Hook ::
Put Ya Game On The Line-Y'all (C'mon)
Look At The Name And Say It Inna Rhyme-Y'all (Its-On)
Get Wrapped Up By A Macktruck On The Way Of The Mic
I Bash-Fucks who Act Tough, Wether it Be Day Or The Night

:: Verse 2 ::
Kiss the grid iron with an impediment, beefs I deaden-it
Graphite sledging necks and poisoning kids with slight lead-in-it
Life-severin, despite veterans who fight relentless
My vital vengeance is twice despised with rights-prevented
I like the sediment, upper-class battle-tactics
That shatter-glasses and aptly rattle-passages which blast-masses
Ass-slappin, chap-lip-graspin and rap's last wish
Knowledge I pass-it, hopin that half I said averagely is mastered
Savagely-attacked-yet I seize-the-moment

:: Hook ::
Put Ya Game On The Line-Y'all (C'mon)
Look At The Name And Say It Inna Rhyme-Y'all (Its-On)
Get Wrapped Up By A Macktruck On The Way Of The Mic
I Bash-Fucks who Act Tough, Wether it Be Day Or The Night

:: Verse 3 ::
I grieve-but-wont-miss, like snipers who see-but-dont-flinch
With ease-I-open, my third dimensional eye-sight with rhymes-tight
Laws I abide-by and drive-bys punches that slice-eyes
Separate a soul-from-force and throw-the-corpse
In a lone-dumped-gorge to hope-that-scores blown in fourths
I promote-that-war, motions are deadened by past-fights
While I have cats 'dying at the wrong moment' like 'flash-lights'
I bask-in-ice, the sudden-rush causes a bludgent-blush
Blood-and-lungs unattached from a un-plunged sudden-touch
I've done that much, I religiously sacrifice, with out asking-rights
Distracting life with scratch-fights of fat-dikes

:: Hook ::
Put Ya Game On The Line-Y'all (C'mon)
Look At The Name And Say It Inna Rhyme-Y'all (Its-On)
Get Wrapped Up By A Macktruck On The Way Of The Mic
I Bash-Fucks who Act Tough, Wether it Be Day Or The Night

:: Verse 4 ::
I'm surreal but rap-mics, my instincts are not-rural
But sometimes I'm 'over-done', like the 'amount of Pac-murals'
Bought-funerals, I laugh at the site-of-it
Colliding with kaleidoscopes is propriety the side-often
Strides-of-pens, vocal combat with broken strong-backs
Along-that, ascend the lines of songs spoken on-rap
Sharp-axe, surgically precise-swings and extremely slight-slicing
Life's-quite-seen as politely the right-thing
But bite-ing, is naively spiting ya own life-being
and any fledging riding dick rightly will lose the license-to-rhymin


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