sporadic tactic's just stacked in the attic
help me blast the habbit of laughin at half-wits
I'm not a math wiz, but good with multiplication..
because i'm placed in a maze and forced to face relation-ship
from my soul to my lips, i dislocate hips, from the beat my vocals skip..
provokin cats, I'll leave a pile of shatted ribs and broken bats..
chokin mats, stans and herbs that joke with gats,
cause i don't have time for your tricks and pranks..
spittin blanks, like my dick was hit from missles n tanks..
it's a war zone, rape the lab and come out with 4 clones,
stick up the bank, and order they give the poor loans..
I'm the peoples outlaw, with the truth as a gift
I sift through the bullshit and use it to lift..
me offa my feet and above the earth
to look down on myself, to get good perception of what I am worth..