This ryme writin got me goin insane,
wit rage i adapt to d pain,from this game dat rains,
so much sorrow it maims,
close my eyes and i see,complex ryme schemes dat flow
thru my viens,
Cursed to carry my cross alone,
and when i spit,
my saliva make it shine like chrome,
ohhhhh!
sorry to drop a punchline there,
my sound rip(REAP) like paper whenever it tears,
but i neva sowed(SEWED) like farmers or lazy tailors,
4get d moral of d story,
there's more to d story,
causing damage to ear snares,
always a step ahead of my peers,Cee Ya remain on top,
like gas flares,
no throne though,
all i got b plastic chairs,
so yall could dance round and round,
but d game aint musical chairs,
u can't stand d music i bear,
its grizzly,so u cats betta prepare,
4 d holocaust,40 days and 40 nights,men!
and if anyone dares,
to stand against d movement,
dis artist will have to draw tears,from u like lil girls!

hit me back wit wat u think of the verse!