I'm spittin rhythems with visions
Of bad decisions, divisions
Of my militia, the mission
Hit with precision, and missin
In this condition, is riskin
And now ya slippin, and driftin
While i be shiften, positions
It's true I glisten, conditioned
To spit these writtens, so listen
You keep the talent deducted
I've come to grab the corrupted
you see the mac and you love it
You know im nothin to fuck wit
I wont be tuckin a musket
No it's nothin like luck its
More like a fuckin adjustment
Yall spits is nothin but ruckus
Thats why I trust that you fuckas
Will flee and run with the bustas.