The microphone molester, machete undresser
Stupid-dope-fresh type shit resurrector
Top gun, miramar, best-of-the-best-er
The leave-an-MC-peace-in-rest-er
The skill tester, the flex-the-gunner
The make-funner, the adversary make runner
Make summer cold with rhymes I spit
Kick gift to lifted delinquent wit
I be prophet, my hand—top it? Stop it
Fly like rocket when I rock it
Lock it down with this perverse verse
Every fuckin curse, a burst of hurt
Move crowds: physical fitness rhymes
Coke heads couldnt do my lines
Im decorated like Christmas pines
My battalion rocks
MCs become silhouettes of chalk
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways
Losing my pride will save it in many days
Hit the dirt cause the words I spit
Will do more than just rip your shirt
Ill bitch slap your soul, contact the track control
Youre comin at me? You cant hack it, though
So ridiculous, watchin my crew get sick of this
Wickedness, pitchin this
Lyrical viciousness to crews and cliques
Made of men and mistresses
This is my life, the twilight in the fight night
And trying to see nothin but the highlights
When I write these eyes on horizons
Die for my song, cry rhymes in krylon
Fire on, move men telekinetically
Esoterically beat-speaking with clarity
Feel my verity, heroism of heresy
And sever every MC I see with severity
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways
Losing my pride will save it in many days
Why not? What I came
Why not? What I came
Why not? What I came
Why not give me what I came to deserve?
Why not give me what I came to believe?
Why not give me what I came to deserve?
Why not give me what I came to believe?
Why?

Reading my eyes will say it in many ways
Losing my pride will save it in many days