my style is ballistic, n' twisted, complex like physics/ metaphors lurk, in the membranes depths, than disperse, to dish out death/the emerging, sounds from tonsils, have opposers submerge, to molecules/ spittin flames to all outskirts, till it travels round tha earth, comes back i feel a burn,aww man i spit so hot it hurt/


im jus messin' round
uno