The Proverbs
I'ma Christopher Wallace this.
Liftin rafters often with Inspector Gadget flawless spit, blitzin rappin auto-fixed to rip n shatter all ya shit. I'm off the script, hittin acid dissolved in twix. Get back, I'm chargin in with ten mags in my cardigan, goin tic for tac with all you kids. I'm out my mind and on the fritz shouting while I'm talkin shit.
God damn, deep breath, and look at the screen. Weak text from shook ass teens demandin respect. "Look at me!!" The Lucid King's back at it bruisin these wack faggots, laughin at 'em. Bruce Lee? Dude, please. I'm Chuck Norris, Buddhist priest. Buckin Taurus cruisin deep through the streets punchin Horus for my fuckin chorus to crush the torrents with each new release. Glued to your seat droolin at Z, wishin you were cool as me. Fuck you.
Zen is cray n scribblin lines with crayons. Hemingway on Ritalin, high. I stay gone. Hotter when I'm blazed. Pen's enflamed fitted with a collar to chain this monster on this page. The Symbol of crazed spittin walloping 'em proper to whittle away and conquer you lames. The Proverbs of the God.
Namaste.
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