extra-terrestrail biological scientist, wearing iron-fists //
carrying the type of shit which you thought didnt even exist//
strange lyrical experiances occuring with mc's disapperances//
is the outcome when they start battling my shit//
in 1987 the heavens aligned the planets to form -=Grafix=-//
with geographic mathmatic ill-literal scientifical amazing syllables//
who spits flames of physical lyrical amazing incredicle miricles//
speak with poetical speech, increased rate of deceased peeps//
is the mc's which i made there path to the morgue//
i create more panic then the president on-board a concorde//
with korean terriosts setting it off-course for collision at earth with full force//
now if my rhyme maneuvers put mc's into seziures//
how the fuck you gonna improve ya level to this//
fuck........

curruptive liposuction, taking the ~phat~ outta mc's//
bullet-proof ~moschino~ jeans, so i can ~read~ ya magazines//
to be aware of you fiends, who cant stop tryna beat me//
twisting ya neck so you can ~watch ya own back~//
and ill flip you like ~staffs~ being tossed in ~combat~//
with my lyrical ~artz~ i make you look like leanardo gone disastrous//
~venomous~, adventrous cobras with fang-spitting coldness//
which leaves most rappaz molten..................

man, plz dont sleep on this

u slow down ur beat way to much, thats my advice

pretty dam good if you ask me.

yo dont do ~ ~ that shit was dope, sounded a bit like cannibus man that was dope keep writin