sittin' at a desk 9 to 5 try'n to find my voice...
no choice but to type, can't spit on a mic for fright of bein fired.//
at night I release my inside fire, inspired by higher insight.//
retire?.. why when I'm admired by more than this guy.//
his lies, scripts rinsed dried by my spit shine with lines that hit high.//
I insist I'm; better than anyone ever and then some.//
you a hen son... fuckin' chicken, you'll never get ahead dawg.//
your raps even read wrong, forget songs... //


done, I'm really bored.. if I put an actual piece up today this is the one I want deleted..

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