How many emcees must get killed?
Before somebody realizes don’t fuck with trill?

How many emcees do I have to defeat to prove myself,
Spitting 1000 bars in one flow damaging my health,
Everyday I improve my skillz n elevate by 5 percentage,
Let peeps view my battles fo free no charge at the entrance,
Cause the cypher is my arena, and yaw never even seen-a,
Emcee that leave a murda scene cleaner,
But I aint talkin homicide I aint into taking yaw gangsta homo-pride,
Lyrically developed, mo dangerous then powder enclosed in an envelop,
Bring death and chaos worse then the 4 horsemen,
But of-course-then, I must be forcing,
My swinging blades through yo skeleton, rhymes mo fluid then gelatin,
Cats softer then silicon, any emcee try n spit on me? Then I’m billing-em,
Why’s my career not happening maybe because the industry,
Is not interested-in-me, they don’t want the best-in-me,
People only wanna hear me talkin about how I carry a vest-with-me,
When I’m spitting I rip-in another dimension,
It’s like my life reflecting in a reflection,
My appearance seems like all I talk is deception,
Deceiving speech receiving, listeners who are all believing,
Me saying what I say when I’m spitting.

Chorus: (x2)
How many cyphers must we rip?
How many scripts must we flip?
How many of yaw rely-on-trill?
How many actually reply-to-trill?
How many emcees must get killed?
Before somebody realizes don’t fuck with trill?

No matter what I do I’ll still never get my appropriate respect,
No one pays attention to my high level intellect,
N you can’t intercept my telepathic waves with yo intelligence,
What ever you spit against me is totally irrelevant,
I’m never hesitant, to-get-rid-of or assassinate,
Emcees from a distance, like Kennedy presidents,
My verbal hollows ricochet and hit residents,
I still remain prop-less, regardless of my progress,
I’m still in the process, of learning my existence,
My position in this game my purpose,
Stay tighter then copper-wire, prepared to cop-some-fire,
Never live in proper-attire, reject offers-to-retire,
I never heard of an MC being polite, the fuck would I know of a po-fight,
So elevated I take on-flight, on-sight, collapsing emcees like a land-slide,
True lyrical skillz? Now the demand’s-wide, now yo man’s-slight…ly,
Thinking that me getting a deal is impossible,
My existence into this game is un-causable,
Surrounded by Nitrogen so I cant breath gotta flow flawless un-plausible.

Chorus: (x2)

In this game I’m just a molecular sized particle,
Who thinks un-practical, who think mathmateical,
Who ready to crack-yo-skull, who pack-nun-dull,
Who track-the-sun,
To keep flows hot constantly,
Cuse actually, battling-me, is quite deadly,
Rhymes so dangerous my metaphors,
Turn into metal-claws, can no one access my mental-drawers,
And start sending, never-ending, messages that’s worthless,
N I’ll never stop rhyming until my lyrics n vocals r perfect,
I don’t work my way from the bottom I just target,
The hardest, regardless, what’s they status in the market,
Yo rhymes stay beneath my feet like carpet,
My voice regulates in all regions, spread to all religions,
No matter what bread makes all life’s decisions,
Like a doctor making a surgical incision,
Must perform with precision,
My shit dope? To believe that cats still refusing,
They say my rhymes too confusing, yaw just under an illusion,
Under an oath to say my drops are illusive,
First Day Out in the Game is the album my shit neva gunna be labeled exclusive.

Chorus: (x2)
How many cyphers must we rip?
How many scripts must we flip?
How many of yaw rely-on-trill?
How many actually reply-to-trill?
How many emcees wanna get rid of trill?
How many emcees have no need for trill?



there was a couple of mistakes i edited...spellin n shit. and i changed the intro a bit