I'm the sure commercialist/
With gun handles made from porcelain/
Plus I destroy emcees to show that i'm mercilless/
And most of this is fiction, like uncertain predictions/
Bombing, death, earthquakes, hurricanes, twisters/
Sparkin in darkness so i see negative charges/
When niggaz hug me they don't love me they greedy monsters/
That's why I gotta get a gurlfriend Nina Heater/
Cause I can't beat everyone with verbal telekenises/
Silenced assasins cause schoolwide massacres/
Between that money and drugs, numbers disasterous/
I'll master this explain my feelings in different ways/
Like my mental state is the pains of a million slaves/
Poisonous streets give the sweet taste of larceny/
Lies to the public, city budget, is all mockeries/