replied to:
masta C
lastpoet
snakeyes

Verse #1:
a chemical balance of the, worlds of talent/
Gene Pool, medicating drugs like an addict/
but I’m straight, comin like a wraith reppin CV today/
listen close, and I’ll relieve the pain shakin the bones in ya legs/
puttin in the hybrid theory, connecting the dots between weak and great/
keepin the shit safe, cuz I feel the place between flows, I close the case/
like a recipe, I rep CV towards the clean, like hellious screams/
creepin, an seepin, in ya dreams, cuz I write the DNA chain/
flowin like blood between ya veins, scenery change/
and u turn around, goin insane, then ya blowin out ya brains/
like the cocaine u snort, destroyin the equations of sane and crazed/
until one day, u layin 6 feet deep in ya grave, and u think, that got u far James/
then u got these other boys, shootin smack, smokin crack, an poppin caps/
and pac, pac, pac, go the caps of your gatt, cuz u hopped on smack/
crack, and a morphine patch, an PCP, got the pain numbing when u bleed/
laced 24 in ya feet, knees, an chest, an ya still standin shuttering coldness in ya breath/
cuz quittin ain’t a part of this mathematical conquest of death, u juss need a quick rest/

Hook:
hoppin, 5 finger discount shoppin, poppin while u rockin/
cock blockin from them cheap shottin, while hot boxin/
but enough of this grip shockin, lockin ya words/
cuz gene Pool puttin u to the curb, cuz this hybrid theories absurd/

Verse #2:
chemical equations, of the brain, Gene Pool, the description/
of the way your body thinks, and reacts, cuz I sink in with my raps/
kill ya with multiple attacks, like math, subtract the gatt/
an divide a half, and watch yo body fall, death by bat/
but come on, lets see u boys when u get ya roll on/
load up, and draw, see if ya got quickness in y’all/
but u’s the ones ta fall, cuz I ain’t even gotta bust 12/
lusting hell, cuz u jailed when I bust an spill, the thrill/
of the kill, I won’t even charge u the bill/
but be careful what u wish for, cuz it juss might come 4/
with blood, guts, and gore, an leave u dead on tha floor/
but what’s life for? Another problematic unsolved/
livin it up, until u fall, rock bottom and u bangin on the devils front door/
but juss before ya hit ya death bed, u find yaself runnin, run and run/
but for what? It ain’t the fun, it’s the hybrid theory of which I bust/
which I cuss, listen punks, I straight fuss with trust, thrust a punch/
but make sure u catch ya nut, b4 ya cum inside ya girls cunt/
but I’m tha one that fucked that slut, and now u tha one stuck/
payin 550 a month, and I only got 3 words cuz, good fuckin luck/

Hook:
hoppin, 5 finger discount shoppin, poppin while u rockin/
cock blockin from them cheap shottin, while hot boxin/
but enough of this grip shockin, lockin ya words/
cuz gene Pool puttin u to the curb, cuz this hybrid theories absurd/

Verse #3:
blunderbuss cuz ya methods fucked, abrupt to close em shut, fuck it cuz/
I’ll sew u up, with 12, an a kick in the nuts, and a strap stuck in ya gut/
and u ask yaself, for what? For what purpose are u holdin ya nuts, bleedin from ya gut/
I’ll tell u, it’s that hybrid theory of deranging talent, from across the planet/
that u feel, and if u got a problem, then tell someone who cares, not me/
not her, not that guy with the chillin hair, cuz nobody even tries to dare/
cuz I got that type of stare, where it puts the S.C.A.R.E.D into the word scared/
so public beware, cuz not even those metal straps can hold me down/
to that electric chair, cuz I’m Gene Pool, and if I NEED TO/
I’ll seep through, the volumetric flows that ur brain bevels on EVERY ANGLE/
and I’ll mutate, formulate a masterful plot, to a point of sending u to break/
and I don’t spit to fake, of what’s on ya dinner plate, cuz I feed it straight/
and I’ll leave ya with a bleeding face, after I’m done with 5 fingers clenched/
to a fist, 30 times plus 2 feet an subtract 6 of a teeth, maybe that’ll keep u away/
leavin u astray, wandering in a lonesome daze, fuck it I’ll juss finish/
with a kensington kiss, and u’ll no longer be awake, this hybrid theory/
equeling ya death in any which way, filled with pain, and u suffer in this game/

Hook:
hoppin, 5 finger discount shoppin, poppin while u rockin/
cock blockin from them cheap shottin, while hot boxin/
but enough of this grip shockin, lockin ya words/
cuz gene Pool puttin u to the curb, cuz this hybrid theories absurd/

__________________
<center><table style=filter:GLOW(color=red)>Atmosphere - inspirations of following in the footsteps of story tellin rhymes</table></center>

<center>Corrupted Visions</center>

<center><table style=filter:GLOW(color=black)>Giving Sight A Third Eye</table></center>