i can switch-styles faster then abusive parents hit-childs, i spit-vile venomous flow thatll flip-tiles and make emcees tence till the point they need ta grip-plyers,spit-fires that'll ignite and rip-rivals, kick-piles of shit on bitch-liars/
my abilities are misconstrued, ive bin hit-and-screwed,put inta the dirt like earthworms, shit-and-shrooms,people can barely understand why i acquit-my-fumes,an why im quik-ta-fume,i wont hesitate ta set matches after ur covered in expensive-perfume/
they dont notice that im stricky non profit,fuck cash in the pockets,im in it for the props and the moshpits,thats why i spit and stick wit the hot-shit,if i ever sell out ive lost-it,ill never become a mainstream hostage/
i hate when the opposition, block-my-vision,and start talkin-shit-and so on,when a while ago, they lost-their-mission,sayen they hip-hop,but there not,cause now they prospered and became mainstreams victims,locked in the mans's prison/
but they still believe what they did was ideal,and thats what everyone wants,a mainstream-deal,i wish these bitches where canteened-and-sealed,sellen out and commin back like they didnt turn there backs for the cream-and--bills/
my flow will never go in that direction,i stand in attention for every last word an emcee mentions,i respect the game,and thats how it should be,no exceptions pressed-in,fuck the dollar,its the mic im blessin,till the day im close ta the best-in the game,raps what i invest-in/
ill never cold cut what i love,it's gave me too-much ta do-such a thing,i aint two faced,ill never exclude-us,me and hip hop are too intouch,we'll never be in-dutch,if im crippled; its my crutch; if im stuck; its my pickup truck ta get me outta the muck,me and it together like beer and pubs/
when ever im emmotionally frustrated,i take out the pen and drop threads like i was getten butt-naked,and when my lifes feelin out-dated,i up date-it with flow thats contageous,outrages,confusen myself wit verbal mazes on pages,till you cant contain-us/
we one,i mean, we two-in-million,light the scene up like a bulb screwed-in-the-ceilin,i can never refuse or misuse-these-feelins,i love it wen the pens in my grips,i get loose-in-the-knees-man,i know that the emcees know what i mean-man/
so untill the end of rap-itself,im passing-out flows till im passin-out in the streets from getten clapped-in-the-mouth wit vocals that snap-my-belts in half and i become nothing,a past away emcee in a casket,-ouch!,the thought of this,i wanna cast-it-out,but i cant,so ill see you untill then,and untill then,my ass-is-out..../