My Mic Is My Sword Striking And Igniting A Storm

Exulting My Words To Become A Lyrical Titan Of Lords

Verbal Ballistics Twisting While I'm Fighting This War

Sick With The Linguistics That Exist The Life Of My Core

I'm The Blacksmith Who Sharpens The Blade, Darkens The Rain

Tossin Grenades, Hittin Platoons And Bombin Brigades

Carving The Way To Burn A Show Like Arsonist Play

It's Not Hard To Explain Why I Leave Emcees Like Needles Lost In The Hay

Concerned Wit Flossin They Chains Instead Of The Thoughts In They Brain

To Market They Names Cause They Fell Into The Moshpit Of Fame

So The Anger And Raucous Encaged Often Remains

To Be Displayed Through The Offensive Range That Slaughters And Slays

And What My Heart Has Contained Is Deeper Than The Core Of The Earth

And The Torture Gets Worse The More That I Explore In A Verse

Scorchin The Herbs To Find The Source Of My Worth

Before Organs Disperse Amongst The Vicious Torment Of Worms

Fed On By Serpeants And Birds And My Sword Is Perfectly Curve

To Mercilessly Serve Death To Lost Souls Worthy To Burn

So As I Urgently Surge I'm Transformin And Turnin These Words

Into Mercenary Heat Weapons To Make The Mercury Burst